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SHINCT&IYQU 


THE  MOTHER-LIGHT 


THE 

MOTHER-LIGHT 

A  Novel 


D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

NEW    YORK 

1905 


COPYRIGHT,  1905,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Publiihed  February,  1905 


THE  MOTHER-LIGHT 


UP  went  the  curtain  at  the  Garden  Theatre  on  the 
third  act  of  the  Morals  of  the  Marchioness.  A  boudoir 
— the  Marchioness's;  her  maid  Therese  moving  about 
alone. 

She  lit  lamps,  she  drew  curtains,  she  straightened 
rugs,  she  arranged  cushions — she  touched  and  lingered 
upon  each  of  the  costly  articles  the  management  had 
assembled  and  advertised  for  that  crucial  act.  Her 
close-fitting  black  costume  with  white  at  the  neck  and 
wrists  gave  her  long,  slim  figure  its  opportunity.  But, 
more  than  by  figure  or  by  grace,  she  pleased  because 
she  radiated  that  mystery  of  attraction  called  personal 
magnetism — strong  and  silent  and  mysterious  as  gravi- 
tation, its  corresponding  force  in  the  universe  of  matter. 
At  the  rise  of  the  curtain  the  audience  had  immediately 
applauded — that  was  for  scenery  and  settings.  As 
Therese  made  her  exit,  there  was  more,  and  more  vigor- 
ous, applause — that  was  the  unconscious  tribute  to  her 
unconscious  magnetism. 

2137364   ' 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

Before  she  could  clear  the  narrow  passage  between 
two  canvas  "  flats  "  the  Marchioness  entered  it,  on  the 
way  to  make  her  entrance.  She  was  beautiful,  being 
none  other  than  the  famous  Victoria  Fenton  of  His 
Majesty's  Theatre;  but  she  was  all  adangle  and  aglitter 
with  her  notorious  jewels,  like  a  pawnbroker's  wife  at 
an  East  Side  wedding  or  a  society  matron  who  has  aban- 
doned hope  of  homage  to  her  own  charms.  The  splen- 
dors of  the  boudoir,  like  the  aristocracy  of  its  tenant, 
ended  abruptly  at  the  vision-line  of  the  audience.  Vic- 
toria's dresser,  Wheat,  was  half-walking,  half-crawling 
beside  her  along  the  narrow  way,  helping  her  to  hold  up 
from  contact  with  the  not  too  clean  boards  the  many 
and  gorgeous  folds  of  the  evening  wrap  and  dress  which 
aided  her  jewels  and  her  beauty  in  producing  public 
uncertainty  as  to  the  degree  of  her  talent. 

The  applause  for  Therese  had  not  died  away.  At 
sight  of  her,  the  Marchioness's  glorious  eyes  shot  anger 
and  contempt.  For  a  week  she  had  been  noting  that  the 
enthusiasm  at  her  own  magnificent  entrance  was  no 
greater,  was  sometimes  less,  than  the  appreciation  of 
the  humble  and  obscure  and  plainly  dressed  Therese. 
Before  that  danger-freighted  look,  seen  now  at  six  suc- 
cessive performances,  the  young  woman  who  was  taking 
the  part  of  maid  flushed  and  shrank.  "  I'm  so  sorry, 
Miss  Fenton ! "  she  pleaded,  pressing  herself  into  the 
canvas  wall.  She  knew  Victoria  meant  mischief — why 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

else  had  she  for  the  last  three  nights  entered  that  nar- 
row way  before  Therese  could  possibly  escape  from  it, 
each  time  giving  her  that  appalling  look? 

As  Victoria  squeezed  by,  her  breath  on  the  fright- 
ened obscurity's  cheek,  she  said  coldly :  "  Here's  the 
creature  again,  Wheat.  Her  awkwardness  and  impu- 
dence are  beyond  endurance." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Wheat,  her  voice  muffled  by  the 
masses  of  cloth  and  silk  and  linen  and  lace  she  was  pro- 
tecting. 

The  obscurity  turned  white  beneath  her  rouge.  Her 
alarm  was  so  great  that  it  left  no  room  in  her  heart  for 
resentment  against  the  deliberate  injustice.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Miss  Fenton.  I  hope  you'll  overlook  it." 

"  Just  tell  the  stage  manager  to  rid  us  of  her,"  con- 
tinued Victoria,  as  if  there  had  been  no  interruption. 
"  She  makes  me  nervous.  My  fan,  now — and  the  opera 
bag."  And  she  was  the  Marchioness  returned  from 
the  opera  to  prepare  for  the  great  rendezvous  in  her 
boudoir. 

Therese  had  to  reappear  from  time  to  time ;  but  the 
trivial  part  did  not  interrupt  the  current  of  Agnes 
Frazer's  thoughts.  No  work  all  summer,  and  her  baby 
taken  sick  just  as  the  season  began;  a  position  at  ten 
dollars  a  week,  less  two  dollars  a  week  to  Miss  Fenton's 
thrifty  manager;  and  now,  after  three  weeks,  with  the 
baby  no  better  and  therefore  worse,  she  was  out  again. 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

Out,  when  it  had  been  so  hard  to  get  in ;  oilt,  when  her 
expenses  were  double  her  wages.  Where  was  she  to  find 
work?  How  keep  her  lodgings?  How  provide  medi- 
cine and  food?  How  pay  the  nurse  she  must  have  for 
the  baby  while  she  was  at  work  or  looking  for  work? 

She  was  leaning  against  an  upright,  in  the  bare, 
chilly  behind-the-scenes,  the  odor  of  Victoria's  powerful 
perfumes  still  sticking  to  the  dampness  of  the  musty  air. 
She  had  lost  consciousness  of  her  dreary  physical  sur- 
roundings; she  was  wandering  in  the  drearier  behind- 
the-scenes  of  her  own  life.  Presently  she  realized  that 
someone  was  standing  before  her,  was  watching  her  with 
pitying  eyes.  She  flushed,  started,  saw  the  call  boy 
holding  out  a  note.  With  a  sympathy  that  was  pro- 
fessionally critical  as  well  as  human,  he  noted  her  pallor 
and  trembling  hands  as  she  took  and  opened  the  note,  her 
look  of  dumb  despair  as  she  read  the  expected  curt  dis- 
missal— one  of  those  blows  that  cannot  be  discounted  by 
anticipation. 

"  Fired?  "  asked  the  boy. 

She  nodded. 

"  Take  my  advice — get  out  of  the  profession,"  said 
he  with  the  condescension  the  humblest  of  the  "  not  fired  " 
has  for  even  the  highest  of  the  "  fired."  "  You  ain't 
got  the  front.  You  can't  throw  the  bluff.  And  the 
other  ladies  hate  you  because  you've  got  airs." 

"  But  I  haven't,"  she  protested,  as  if  it  were  of  the 
4 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

utmost  importance  to  convince  the  boy.  "  I  let  them 
walk  on  me — any  of  them — all  of  them.  I've  humbled 
myself.  I've  degraded  myself." 

"  That's  just  it,  Miss  Frazer,"  said  the  boy  trium- 
phantly. "  You  look  as  if  you  was  lowering  yourself. 
That's  what  makes  'em  red-headed.  They  don't  care 
how  chesty  anybody  is  so  long  as  she  looks  low." 

But  "  Miss  Frazer  "  wasn't  listening. 

The  boy  continued  his  counsels,  his  face  shrewd  and 
old  with  the  premature  cynicism  of  the  city  "  boy  of 
the  world."  "  Get  a  backer,"  said  he,  "  and  get  a  hide, 
or  get  off  the  earth.  It's  no  place  for  people  with  skins ; 
it's  no  place  for  no  woman  without  a  man  behind  her." 
And  he  had  to  hurry  away,  to  thrust  his  pert  face  in  at 
sundry  dressing-room  doors  and  to  deliver  his  calls  in 
a  pert  voice. 

She  went  down  to  the  dungeon-like  general  dressing- 
room,  made  her  street  change,  left  the  theatre.  She  en- 
tered it  again  by  the  public  door,  got  her  six  dollars  at 
the  box-office.  Out  into  Madison  Avenue,  and  mechani- 
cally southward  along  the  Garden  colonnade  toward 
Twenty-sixth  Street.  In  the  dimness  of  the  crossing  she 
ran  into  a  young  man  with  eyes  down  and  thoughts  as 
preoccupied  as  hers.  He  apologized,  but  she  neither 
saw  nor  heard.  He  knew  that  she  did  not,  read  why  in 
the  drama  of  her  thoughts  written  so  ghastlily  upon  her 
face.  They  passed  on  in  opposite  directions. 

5 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

The  young  man  went  only  a  few  steps  before  he 
paused,  turned,  gazed  after  her.  There  she  was — as  yet 
but  a  few  yards  away.  He  followed. 

She  crossed  Madison  Square  diagonally,  did  not  stop 
until  she  reached  Twenty-third  Street.  A  drizzling 
rain  began  to  fall ;  she  looked  eastward  for  a  cross-town 
car.  "  No,  I  must  walk,"  she  muttered,  and  went  rap- 
idly on  westward.  He  quickened  his  pace,  put  himself 
abreast  of  her,  walked  beside  her  in  silence.  She  low- 
ered her  head  and  went  the  faster. 

But  he  did  not  take  the  hint.  "  I  see  you  have  no 
umbrella,"  he  said,  the  only  courage  in  his  tone  the  cour- 
age of  timidity  barely  overcome.  "  May  I — Will  you 
— We  are  going  the  same  way." 

She  put  her  head  still  lower. 

"  What  harm  would  there  be  in  walking  under  my 
umbrella  ?  "  he  urged.  And  he  opened  it. 

They  went  side  by  side  in  silence  almost  to  Sixth 
Avenue,  he  carrying  the  umbrella  so  that  she  could 
easily  come  under  it,  but  not  venturing  to  hold  it  over 
her.  At  the  electric  light  near  the  stairway  of  the 
Elevated,  she  stopped  and  faced  him. 

"  If  I  annoy  you — "  he  stammered. 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  replied  coldly.  And  her  eyes  began 
a  calm,  critical  survey  of  him — from  head  to  foot  and 
back  again.  It  was  not  a  rebuke  but  an  analysis.  He 
was  about  as  tall  as  she,  agreeable  looking,  and  with  a 

6 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

good,  strong  figure.  He  was  well,  even  fashionably, 
dressed.  Like  his  dress,  his  face  suggested  custom  of 
great  comfort  at  least,  probably  of  luxury.  She  took 
a  long  time  for  her  survey.  As  soon  as  he  guessed  the 
nature  of  it,  he  watched  her  with  a  somewhat  embar- 
rassed smile. 

"  What's  the  verdict?  "  he  asked,  when  she  had  ap- 
parently finished  and  seemed  to  be  reflecting.  And  he 
tried  distinctly  to  see  her  face;  but  it  was  in  the  deep 
shadow,  while  such  light  as  there  was  streamed  full  upon 
him.  "  Will  I— do?  " 

"  As  well  as  another,"  she  answered,  her  eyes  calmly 
upon  him  again.  "  You  are  not  poor  ?  " 

"  Not  very,"  he  said.     "  Nor  yet  rich." 

"  I  think  you'll  do,"  she  went  on,  still  in  the  judicial 
tone.  "  I  may  need  some  one — some  stranger — some 
— man  like  you."  There  was  a  faint  sarcastic  chill,  he 
thought,  in  the  "  man  like  you." 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  misjudge  me,"  he  began. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't,"  she  replied.  "  Besides,  what  I 
think  of  you  is  of  no  more  importance  than — what  you 
think  of  me.  I  may  need  you  " — this  as  if  he  were  an 
inanimate  instrument  to  some  purpose  of  hers  which  it 
was  no  more  necessary  to  disclose  to  him  than  it  would 
be  necessary  to  explain  to  a  table  knife  that  one  was 
about  to  use  it  for  cutting  bread.  "If  I  should — "  she 
went  on,  reflectively.  "  This  is  Wednesday.  I'll  prob- 

7 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

ably  know  by  Sunday.  If  you  care  to,  you  can  come — " 
she  hesitated — "  here  will  do  as  well  as  anywhere.  Sun- 
day evening — here — at — What  time  does  it  get  dark  ?  " 
She  gave  a  short  queer  laugh  that  made  him  wince. 
"  About  half -past  seven,"  she  went  calmly  on,  answer- 
ing her  own  question.  "  At  eight  o'clock  then — if  you 
care  to  risk  my  not  being  here."  She  nodded  a  curt 
but  not  unfriendly  dismissal  and  was  on  her  way  west- 
ward when  he,  rousing  himself,  lifted  his  hat  and  bowed 
as  if  she  could  see  him. 

On  Sunday  evening  he  swung  the  corner  of  Fifth 
Avenue  and  came  down  the  south  side  of  Twenty-third 
Street,  ten  minutes  early.  But  he  found  her  at  the 
edge  of  the  sidewalk  in  the  same  place.  Again  he  could 
not  make  out  her  face  perfectly,  so  strong  was  the 
shadow;  but  he  thought  it  peaked  and  hollow,  and  he 
was  sure  that  her  dress — the  same  she  had  on  before — 
was  now  much  larger  for  her.  As  he  lifted  his  hat,  she 
looked  at  him.  He  said :  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  if  I'm 
late.  Fact  is,  I  almost  didn't  come.  You  were  so  queer 
the  other  night  and — Well,  I  had  followed  you  on  im- 
pulse  " 

"  No  matter,"  she  cut  in.  "  I'm  here."  And  he 
felt  that  her  nerves  were  on  such  a  tension  that  she  wished 
not  to  be  compelled  either  to  listen  or  to  speak. 

"  You've  dined  ?  "  he  ventured  after  an  awkward 
pause. 

8 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  Yes,"  she  replied. 

"  We  might  go  in  somewhere  and  have  some  coffee  or 
a  liqueur — or  something,"  he  suggested  helplessly. 

"  As  you  please.  But — I  must  be  home  by  ten." 
She  said  it  evenly  enough,  if  with  a  certain  peculiar 
slowness  and  distinctness. 

"  Listen  to  me !  "  he  burst  out.  "  I  know  what  you 
take  me  for,  and  I  don't  blame  you.  But  no  matter 
about  that.  It's  altogether  a  question  of  you." 

"  I  am  of  age,"  she  said  tranquilly.  "  Twenty-nine, 
to  be  exact.  I've  been  married — am  a  widow.  I've  had 
a  pretty  thorough  experience  of  what  you  men  call  '  the 
world '  in  these  last  two  years  of  making  my  own  way. 
And — I'm  here." 

"  Yes,  and  I  see  in  your  eyes  the  same  look  they  had 
over  near  the  Garden  the  other  night.  And  I  wish  you 
would  tell  me " 

"  I  am  not  here  to  discuss  myself,"  she  interrupted 
coldly. 

He  made  a  gesture  of  appeal.  "  Let  me  help  you," 
he  said.  "  Please !  " 

She  drew  herself  up.  "  You  are  mistaken,"  came 
from  her  in  the  iciest  voice.  "  I  am  not  a  beggar,  not 
an  object  of  charity  or  of  pity.  For  two  years  I've 
been  selling  my  soul.  I've  made  up  my  mind  never  to 
do  so  again.  I  prefer — what  I  regard  as  the  lesser  evil. 

I  prefer  to  sell " 

9 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  Don't  finish  that  sentence !  "  he  commanded  sternly. 
"  You  think  you  know  what  you're  talking  about,  but 
you  don't.  I've  been  worse  off  in  this  town  than  you 
could  possibly  be.  You  still  have  clothes.  I've  gone 
without  a  shirt  for  weeks,  and  with  nothing  to  eat  but 
a  roll  and  coffee  every  other  day  or  so.  There  isn't 
any  humiliation  I  haven't  struck  hands  with.  I've 
begged.  I've — yes,  I've  looked  about  for  a  chance  to 
steal,  and  was  kept  from  it  only  because  I  couldn't  find 
anything  that  would  buy  bread  or  lodgings." 

"  But  why  should  I  beg  or  steal,"  she  said — defiant 
now,  "  when  I  need  not?  " 

"  Don't !  Don't !  "  he  implored.  "  You  don't  un- 
derstand— believe  me,  you  don't.  And  I  can  help  you. 
And  you've  a  right  to  my  help — the  same  right  you'd 
have  if  you  were  drowning." 

His  tone  went  straight  to  her  heart.  She  looked  at 
him — got  a  vivid  impression  of  strength  and  gentleness. 
She  looked  up  and  down  the  street — deserted  except  by 
a  few  forlorn,  tawdry  figures  moving  vaguely  along, 
like  shadows,  like  warnings  conjured  by  him  to  frighten 
her  back.  She  wavered.  "  Well — what  do  you  pro- 
pose? "  she  asked. 

"  You  must  need — "  he  began.  And  in  spite  of 
himself  he  showed  that  nervous  hesitation  which  comes 
to  every  sensitive  soul  when  its  emotions,  whether  of 
generosity  or  sympathy  or  passionate  love,  have  to  be 

10 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

materialized,  have  to  be  translated  into  the  always  nec- 
essarily coarser  terms  of  the  tangible.  And  in  his  ner- 
vousness he  blunderingly  awakened  her  with  the  rude 
shock  of  the  materializing  gesture — his  hand  moved 
toward  his  inside  coat-pocket. 

"  How  dare  you !  How  dare  you !  "  she  blazed  out, 
and  wheeled  and  fled  so  swiftly  that  to  have  over- 
taken her  he  must  have  made  both  her  and  himself  con- 
spicuous. 

He  did  follow,  however,  kept  her  in  sight  until  she 
turned  into  Seventh  Avenue.  When  he  came  to  the 
corner  and  looked  in  the  direction  she  had  taken,  he 
could  not  see  her.  He  walked  up  and  down  the  block; 
he  started  away  several  times,  each  time  returning  after 
he  had  gone  a  few  yards.  He  did  not  give  her  up 
for  more  than  an  hour.  Next  morning  he  searched 
the  newspapers  item  by  item — and  many  mornings  there- 
after. He  telephoned  the  most  likely  hospitals ;  he  even 
went  twice  to  the  Morgue.  Wondering  at  himself,  he 
persisted  long  after  the  folly  of  it  was  obvious,  per- 
sisted until  a  month's  absence  from  the  city  broke  his 
habit.  And  still  he  did  not  forget.  Months  after- 
ward her  eyes  and  her  voice  and  that  tragic  look  which 
had  pierced  him  at  first  sight  of  her — or,  rather,  sense 
of  her — would  float  into  his  mind  and  haunt  him.  And 
the  spell  of  the  phantom  was  the  more  potent  for  its 
vagueness. 

11 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

She  had  darted  across  the  avenue  and,  hiding  in  the 
denser  crowd  there,  had  rounded  into  Twenty-second 
Street.  A  backward  glance  as  she  was  turning,  and 
she  saw  him  at  Twenty-third  Street  gazing  down  the 
other  side  of  the  avenue.  At  a  slower  pace  she  went 
on  to  her  lodgings.  She  was  putting  the  key  in  the 
door  when  she  heard  from  the  foot  of  the  stoop: 
"  Yes — it  is  you !  I  can't  be  mistaken." 

She  gasped;  the  key  rang  on  the  stone  sill;  she 
leaned  against  the  door-frame. 

"  Don't  you  know  me?  "  continued  the  voice — it 
came  from  a  man  making  halting  ascent  toward  her. 

But  she  did  not  hear  distinctly  and  was  not  looking. 
In  the  whirl  of  her  thoughts  she  was  assuming  that  it 
was  the  man  who  had  tempted  her  to  take  alms.  "  This 
is  even  more  contemptible — "  she  muttered. 

"  Maida !  Mrs.  Hickman !  "  exclaimed  the  man,  hat 
in  hand  and  face  now  clear  in  the  light  from  the  street 
lamp.  "  It's  I— Will  Hinkley— of  Ida  Grove." 

Maida — Mrs.  Hickman — those  names  which  she  had 
not  heard  in  her  two  years  on  the  stage  as  Agnes  Frazer, 
brought  her  to  herself.  "  Will  Hinkley ! "  she  cried, 
and  stretched  out  both  hands.  But  before  he  could 
take  them,  she  drew  back.  "  How  did  you  find  me?  " 
she  asked,  suspiciously. 

"  I  have  come — I  have  been  led  here — to  see  you, 
to  talk  with  you  about — a  very  important  matter." 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

He  was  beside  her  on  the  top  step  and  was  regarding 
her  with  a  solemnity  that  struck  terror  into  her. 

"  What — what — "  she  stammered.  Had  he  seen  her 
and  the  stranger  in  Twenty-third  Street?  Had  he  both 
understood  and  misunderstood?  Had  he  followed  her? 
He  had  known  her  from  childhood,  was,  therefore,  a 
connecting  link  with  the  only  public  opinion  that  ex- 
isted for  her — the  public  opinion  of  her  native  town. 

At  sight  of  the  agitation  his  words  had  caused  he 
smiled  in  solemn  triumph.  "  I  see  you  understand  me," 
he  said.  "  The  Mother-Light — "  At  this  name  he 
paused,  bent  his  head  slowly  three  times,  his  lips  moving 
as  if  in  some  sort  of  prayer.  Then  he  went  on,  "  has 
prepared  your  mind  for  her  message,  her  invitation.'* 

She  was  all  at  sea;  but  she  felt  that  at  least  her 
suspicion  was  not  well  founded.  "  Won't  you  come 
in  ?  "  she  asked,  picking  up  the  key  and  unlocking  the 
door.  "  I'll  have  to  leave  you  in  the  parlor  alone  a 
minute  or  two.  But  I'll  be  down  as  soon  as  I've  had  a 
look  at  my  baby." 

"  Your  baby !  "  he  exclaimed. 

She  nodded  with  a  quick  smile.  "  Oh — of  course — 
how  could  you  know?  I  haven't  s6en  a  soul  from  Ida 
Grove  since  Dick  and  I  left.  Eleven  years !  And  I've 
not  written  to  anyone  out  there — not  since  we  left.  Yes, 
I've  a  baby — two  years  and  five  months  old.  He  was 
born  a  month  after  Dick  died." 
2  13 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  Your  baby !  "  repeated  Hinkley,  dazed.  "  Im- 
possible ! " 

She  laughed.  "  I'll  show  you,"  she  said,  opening 
the  door.  "  He's  not  been  well,  but  he's  worth  looking 
at,  for  all  that." 

"  You  have  no  baby !  "  muttered  Hinkley,  rubbing 
his  hand  over  his  forehead  as  he  followed  her  into  the  hall. 

A  woman  was  on  the  stairs.  At  sight  of  them  she 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head  and  pressed  it  to  her 
face  with  both  hands.  Maida  gave  a  low  scream,  such 
a  sound  as  an  animal  vents  when  it  sees  its  young  in 
the  clutch  of  the  hunter.  She  sprang  past  the  woman, 
up  the  creaking  stairway,  and  was  hid  by  the  turn. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  Hinkley  asked  the  woman. 

"Oh!  Oh!"  she  moaned.  "He's  dead— Mrs. 
Frazer's  baby's  dead !  " 

Hinkley  dropped  to  his  knees  and  clasped  his  hands. 
"  A  miracle !  A  miracle ! "  he  cried  in  a  voice  that 
sounded  like  joy. 

The  woman  was  too  astounded  by  this  incredible 
demonstration  to  show,  or  even  to  feel,  horror.  Hink- 
ley rose  and  in  his  ordinary  voice,  tinged  with  proper 
sympathy,  said :  "  Now,  please  take  me  to  her  that  I 
may  console  her." 

The  woman  studied  his  honest,  distinctly  attractive 
countenance,  was  fascinated  by  his  curiously  piercing 
black-brown  eyes.  She  noted  his  more  than  decent 

14 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

dress,  suggestive  of  the  minister.  She  began  to  feel 
that  she  must  have  been  somehow  mistaken  about  that 
scandalous,  if  not  lunatic,  demonstration  of  joy.  "  It's 
me  that's  upset,"  she  muttered. 

"  She  and  I  are  life-long  friends,"  Hinkley  ex- 
plained. "  I  am  sure,  madam,  she  will  wish  to  have  me 
with  her." 

The  servant  preceded  him  to  the  third  floor,  to  the 
rear  end  of  the  hall.  She  knocked  and  a  nurse  opened 
the  door — revealing  a  small  bare  hole  under  the  eaves 
with  just  room  for  a  folding  bed.  There  sat  Maida, 
her  dead  baby  in  her  lap,  her  arms  limply  under  it. 
She  was  staring  into  the  wall;  and  upon  her  face  as 
upon  a  mask  of  gray  stone  was  graven  that  desolation 
which  suspends  the  senses  and  stuns  the  soul. 

Will  Hinkley  gently  lifted  the  dead  child  and  laid 
it  upon  the  bed  beside  her.  Then  he  sat  and  put  his 
arm  round  her — he  could  feel  the  chill  of  her  body 
through  her  clothing. 

"  Maida,  my  sister  Maida ! "  he  murmured,  a  sud- 
den sense  of  her  woe  upheaving  in  him  the  religion  of 
his  childhood  and  youth.  "  The  Lord  giveth,  and  the 
Lord  taketh  away.  Blessed " 

With  a  shudder  and  a  spring  she  was  upon  her  feet. 
"  The  Lord ! "  she  hissed,  her  hands  clinching  and  un- 
clinching,  and  her  expression  shifting  as  swiftly  and 
terribly  as  those  wrathful  countenances  that  are  hinted 

15 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

in  leaping  flames.  "  The  Lord !  You — you — come  to 
me — here — here! — with  my  dead  baby  before  my  eyes — 
and  talk  to  me  of  a  good  God!  I  tell  you,  there's  no 
God!  There's  a  devil — yes.  There  is  a  devil  who 
amuses  himself  by  creating  us  and  slowly  torturing  us 
to  death,  first  killing  our  dear  ones,  one  by  one,  before 
our  eyes.  But — a  God !  "  She  laughed  long  and  loudly. 

"  Maida !  Maida !  "  said  Hinkley  in  a  deep,  tender 
voice,  fixing  his  strange  eyes  on  hers. 

The  look  beat  upon  her  fury  like  rain  upon  a 
frenzied  sea,  slowly  quieting  it.  At  last  she  shivered. 
"  Oh — what  am  I  saying !  "  she  wailed.  "  Forgive  me, 
God — "  She  sank  to  her  knees,  clasped  her  hands  upon 
the  bosom  of  her  child,  interlaced  its  fingers  with  hers — 
"  forgive  me,  God,  and  let  me  have  my  baby — my  little 
one — my  all,  my  all !  "  Now  she  was  flinging  herself 
upon  the  bed,  her  eyes  raining  tears;  and  she  was  kiss- 
ing the  small,  cold  face,  so  wasted,  so  waxen  white ;  was 
kissing  the  tiny,  thin  hands,  like  withered,  crumpled 
leaves;  was  kissing  the  little  feet — how  often  had  they 
brought  him  tottering  and  uncertain  and  all  aquiver 
with  joy  to  the  door  at  sound  of  her  hurrying  up  the 
stairs.  "  Baby !  Baby !  "  she  called  softly.  "  Wake, 
baby !  Smile  at  mamma ! "  After  a  long,  expectant 
look,  a  cry  as  if  her  soul  were  tearing  itself  loose  from 
her  body;  and  she  buried  her  head  in  the  folds  of  the 
baby's  night-dress. 

16 


II 


FOE  the  next  four  days  she  did  what  they  told  her 
to  do,  did  it  as  she  was  told  to  do  it.  She  looked  at 
the  coffin  as  if  she  either  did  not  see  it  or  did  not 
know  what  it  was.  She  watched  it  descend  into  the 
earth,  heard  those  few  first  clods  echo  upon  it  like  the 
despairing  beat  of  hands  from  within.  She  saw  the 
fresh  earth  pounded  into  a  coffin-shaped  mound  under 
the  spades  of  the  diggers.  All  the  savagery  of  the 
civilized  funeral  was  enacted  before  her  open  eyes  with- 
out causing  either  outward  sign  or  inward  feeling. 

In  the  darkness  of  the  fourth  night  the  nurse,  asleep 
on  a  cot  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  started  up,  awoke, 
listened.  Maida,  with  pillows  or  covers  or  both  over 
her  head  and  pressed  against  her  mouth,  was  writhing 
upon  the  rack  of  her  woe.  The  numb  nerves  had  come 
to  life,  and  Grief,  most  skillful  of  vivisectionists,  was 
searching  them  with  merciless  steel.  The  nurse  gave 
a  nod  of  satisfaction.  "  She'll  come  round  now,"  she 
said  to  herself.  "  The  volcano  has  got  an  outlet." 
And  as  the  sounds  died  away  she  fell  asleep. 

Hinkley  came  at  ten  the  next  morning.  He  found 
her  with  heavily  circled,  dull  eyes,  with  hands  like  a 

17 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

corpse's,  with  lips  only  a  shade  more  blueish-white  than 
her  face;  but  she  was  calm,  and  while  the  look  she 
gave  him  as  he  spoke  was  as  indifferent  and  lifeless 
as  living  look  could  well  be,  still  it  was  recognition 
again. 

"  Are  you  paying  for  all  this?  "  she  began  abruptly. 
Her  returned  mind  had  seized  at  once  the  thought  that 
had  pressed  in  upon  it  day  and  night  ever  since  Richard 
Hickman  died,  leaving  her  a  lapsed  insurance  policy 
and  the  debts  of  his  long  illness. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Hinkley  said  in  evasion. 

"  The  bills — are  you  meeting  them  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered. 

"Who  is?" 

"  That  of  which  I  am  the  agent,  the  servant,"  he 
replied.  And  his  strange  eyes  had  a  fanatical  look — 
she  thought  she  remembered  having  seen  it  several  days 
before. 

"  Please  explain,"  she  said  curtly. 

"  Not  just  now,"  he  answered  with  firm  gentleness. 
"  But  soon — and  you  will  be  satisfied." 

She  examined  him  more  closely.  He  was  the  same 
William  Hinkley  she  had  known  out  in  Iowa,  for  the 
first  eighteen  years  of  her  life,  and  until  eleven  years 
ago.  He  had  the  same  stocky,  stubborn-looking  form 
and  neck  and  head;  the  same  pleasing,  honest  features 
with  refinement  in  them  as  well  as  strength,  the  features 

18 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

of  a  man  of  the  sort  of  energy  that  would  probably 
find  expression  in  an  art  or  profession ;  the  same  black- 
ness of  the  hair  and  of  the  roots  of  the  close  shaven 
beard  which  made  still  darker  his  swarthy  skin;  the 
same  unusual  eyes. 

No,  there  she  saw  a  distinct  change.  He  used 
to  look  the  man  in  search  of  a  mission;  he  now  looked 
the  man  who  has  found  his  mission,  and  is  filled  with 
the  fire  of  it.  Also,  he  was  more  carefully  and 
more  expensively  dressed  than  he,  or  any  man  in 
Ida  Grove,  had  been.  She  decided  that  his  mission 
was  of  a  religious  nature,  and  that  it  viewed  the 
world  to  come  from  a  not  uncomfortable  seat  in  the 
world  that  is. 

The  touch  of  clericalism  did  not  surprise  her.  He 
had  always  been  intense  upon  the  subject  of  religion. 
Many  a  discussion  they  had  had  when  she  came  home 
on  vacation  from  college  where  her  studies  made  her 
disdainful  of  faith  and  vain  of  her  fledgling  reason's 
attempts  to  fly — soarings,  she  thought  them  then.  Just 
before  she  and  her  husband  left  Ida  Grove  to  settle  in 
New  York,  Hinkley  became  a  militant  agnostic,  re- 
signed the  pastorate  of  the  Presbyterian  Church  in  a 
sermon  which  caused  in  that  pious,  conventional  commu- 
nity much  such  a  commotion  as  the  wolf  must  have  caused 
in  the  fold  when  he  suddenly  dropped  his  sheepskin 
and  fell  to.  But  the  older  people  predicted  that  the 

19 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

ardent  young  excursionist  into  space  would  follow  the 
path  of  Ida  Grove's  few  previous  "  free  thinkers  "  and 
like  them  would  safely  return  to  some  one  of  the  regular 
orbits  of  the  faith  before  many  years. 

"  You're  preaching  again  ?  "  Maida  asked. 

"  Yes  and  no,"  he  replied.  "  But  that,  too,  we'll 
talk  about  later." 

"  Why  not  now  ?  "  she  said  with  impatience.  "  Why 
so  mysterious?"  Then:  "But,  never  mind.  I  must 
gather  myself  together.  I  must  find  a  cheaper  place 
this  very  day,  and  must  take  the  baby  and " 

Hinkley  winced  and  waited  breathless.  But  she 
hesitated  only  a  second  before  going  on :  "I  must  move 
my  belongings  and  look  for  work.  I  need  almost  noth- 
ing now." 

"  Don't  bother  with  those  things.  All  your  wants 
are  provided  for.  As  soon  as  you  are  strong  enough, 
I'U  explain." 

"  Strong ! "  She  said  it  with  an  indifferent,  self- 
scorning  sneer.  "  Last  night  I  made  a  horrible  dis- 
covery about  myself.  I  found  out  that  I'm  a  coward — 
a  deep-down  coward." 

"  You  ?  "  Hinkley  smiled  open  and  tender  admira- 
tion at  her.  "  I  know  you  through  and  through.  If 
you  aren't  brave,  then  brave  doesn't  mean  what  the  dic- 
tionary says." 

"  I  said  I  was  a  deep-down  coward.  Who  isn't 
20 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

brave  on  the  surface — who  that  has  vanity?  But  deep- 
down,  under  the  foundation,  there's  a  quicksand  of 
cowardice." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"  Last  night,"  she  replied  tranquilly,  "I  decided  to 
kill  myself.  That  was,  and  is,  the  common-sense  thing 
to  do.  I've  nothing  to  live  for — nothing  and  nobody. 
I've  learned  that  for  me  living  means  a  grudging  bit 
of  pleasure  paid  for  in  pain  at  compound  interest.  Yet 
— I  couldn't — I  didn't  dare  pull  the  slip  knot  I  made 
out  of — "  She  halted,  then  went  steadily  on — "  out 
of  one  of  the  bands  I  used  to  wind  round  my  baby. 
Coward  that  I  am,  with  not  even  the  courage  of  pride — 
I  wanted  to  live  on." 

There  were  several  minutes  of  silence.  She  broke 
it.  "  Please  talk.  Take  my  mind  off  of — it.  Can't 
you  imagine  how  I'm  tearing  at  myself  inside?  "  This, 
not  excitedly,  but  with  an  unruffled  surface. 

"  To  live,"  he  said,  "  the  divine  instinct  that  has 
led  all  animate  nature  through  the  catastrophes  and 
torments  of  the  cycles,  and  will  lead  it  on  until  immor- 
tality is  at  last  achieved." 

"  Why  do  you  say  divine?  To  me  now,  it  seems  a 
pitiful  clinging  to  an  illusion — like  the  pauper's  child 
who  knows  there's  no  Santa  Glaus  and  that  there'll  not 
be  any  presents,  yet  hangs  up  his  stocking  and  invites 
the  heart-ache  he's  sure  will  come." 

21 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  It  would  be  so  if  it  were  not  for  The  Light,"  he 
said. 

"  You  believe,  you  feel,  that  there's  a  hereafter  ?  " 

"  No — there  is  no  hereafter,"  he  replied,  his  eyes 
suddenly  strange  and  brilliant.  "  The  Mother-Light " 
— he  bowed  his  head  three  times  and  his  lips  moved  as  if 
he  were  repeating  some  formula;  then  he  went  on — 
"  teaches  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  time,  any  more 
than  there  is  space  or  matter — matter  in  the  mortal 
sense.  All  three  are  but  evil  dreams.  The  Light 
shines  steadily  on,  regardless  of  the  motes  that  may 
float  across  it.  And  these  motes  touch  us,  who  are  all 
vibrations  of  the  Great  Beam,  and  they  cloud  our  vision 
and  we  dream  the  evil  which  we  ignorantly  call  life." 

Maida  looked  at  him  curiously,  quizzically.  He 
showed  neither  irritation  nor  embarrassment.  But  she 
noticed  that  the  intense  look  did  not  leave  his  eyes. 
"  I've  put  a  book  on  the  table  there,"  he  said.  "  I  want 
you  to  read  it — read  it  carefully.  I  shouldn't  ask  this 
if  there  weren't  a  good  reason  for  it,  a  reason  valuable 
to  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said — honestly,  because  he  who 
had  been  so  kind  evidently  thought  he  was  doing  her 
a  further  and  great  kindness.  "  But  I  fear  I'm  not 
in  the  humor  to  read — just  now." 

"  Pardon  me  for  insisting.  I'm  not  trying  to  con- 
vert you.  I've  a  deeper  motive.  It  means  your  whole 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

future — the  future  the  Great  All  seems  to  have  marked 
out  for  you." 

She  showed  in  her  eyes  the  thought  that  was  gather- 
ing in  her  mind. 

He  looked  amused.  "  I  see  you  think  I've  gone 
stark  mad,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "  But  I  haven't.  Or, 
if,  after  you've  heard  me,  you  decide  I'm  out  of  my 
mind,  at  least  you'll  admit  it's  a  madness  that  involves 
highly  agreeable  consequences  to  you." 

"  Will !  "  she  said  sharply. 

"  Yes,  Maida." 

"  Who  is  paying  for  all  this  ?  " 

"  Nobody,"  he  replied,  his  eyes  twinkling.  "  It's  a 
what  rather  than  a  who." 

"  What  is  putting  me  hopelessly  in  its  debt,  then  ?  " 
she  persisted. 

"  Read  The  Book,  and  to-morrow  I'll  tell  you." 

"  What  did  you  mean  when  you  said  you  were " 

"  Read  The  Book,"  he  repeated.  And  he  rose 
and  stretched  out  his  hand.  She  took  it  and  her 
eyes  searched  after  his  thoughts.  "  What  is  it?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Will,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  give  me  your  word 
that — "  She  hesitated,  then  added:  "Oh,  how  shall 
I  say  it?" 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  he  answered,  the  color 
showing  faintly.  "  You  are  afraid  I'm  putting  you 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

under  obligations  to  me.  You  think  I've  some  idea  of — 
of  reviving — the — the  past." 

She  hung  her  head.  "  If  you'd  been  through  what 
I  have  these  last  two  years,  if  you'd  had  to  pay  with 
your  very  soul  for  just  the  necessities  of  life,  you 
wouldn't  blame  me  for  being — nervous." 

"  How  they  must  have  made  you  suffer ! "  he  said, 
his  face  stern.  "  You,  brought  up  in  such  a  sheltered 
way,  with  courtesy  and  kindness  and  love — always."  He 
laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder.  "  I  care  for  you,  as  I 
always  did.  To  me  you're  still  the  best,  in  mind  and 
heart  and — to  look  at.  But  I  think  I  can  say  honestly 
that  it  isn't  the  kind  of  care  that's  for  the  sake  of  or 
with  the  hope  of  return  in  kind.  Still,  even  if  it  were, 
even  if,  unknown  to  myself,  it  is,  the  new  life  you  will 
enter — for  I'm  sure  you'll  enter  it — would  put  an  end 
to  my  hope  forever.  No,  it  isn't  I  that's  doing  these 
things  for  you.  They're  done,  as  you'll  find  out, 
because  they  are  your  right,  your  due — they  and  more. 
You  trust  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  adding  with  a  faint  smile  of 
mockery,  "  Yes — since  I  must." 


Ill 


ALONE,  she  sat  at  the  window — waiting.  Her  gaze 
at  first  brooded  low  upon  the  mean  stretches  of  sooty 
roof  and  chimney ;  but  soon  it  was  soaring  in  the  bound- 
less universe  of  light  beyond  and  above,  was  soaring 
aimlessly,  taking  her  listless  fancy  with  it  to  float  and 
fly  and  float  again. 

When  the  tempest  has  made  a  clean  sweep,  the 
surface  lies  barren  until  a  new  crop  of  new  life  has  a 
chance  to  spring.  The  tempest  had  swept  her,  had 
passed;  and  now  she  was  waiting  in  desolation,  but  not 
in  despair.  Her  mind  was  prostrate,  her  body  so  worn 
and  her  face  so  haggard  that  those  who  knew  her 
would  with  difficulty  have  recognized  her;  but,  under- 
neath the  surface-desert  she  felt  the  flow  of  the  strong 
current  of  life.  She  was  waiting,  expectant,  even 
hopeful. 

Hopeful  of  what? 

In  her  old  home,  in  the  outskirts  of  Ida  Grove,  away 
at  the  far  end  of  the  grounds  and  quite  alone,  there 
used  to  be  a  huge  oak ;  and  its  third  bough  on  the  left, 
as  she  climbed  upward,  so  met  the  trunk  that  there  was 
an  ideal  seat  where  she  could  neither  be  seen  nor  see 

25 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

through  the  softly  luminous  walls  of  foliage.  She  used 
to  spend  hours  on  hours  of  successive  summer  days  hid- 
den there,  reading  and  dreaming  and  not  certain,  and 
not  wishing  to  be  certain,  of  what  was  read  and  what 
dreamed.  She  always  approached  and  left  her  retreat 
by  stealth.  It  would  have  made  her  unhappy  had  she 
known  that  her  mother,  worried  by  her  long  disappear- 
ances, watched  until  she  saw  where  her  little  daughter 
spent  the  time. 

The  basis  of  all  this  mystery  of  the  oak  was  a  fancy 
that  dominated  Maida  as  far  back  as  she  could  remem- 
ber. She  was — so  she  imagined,  after  the  manner  of 
many  imaginative  children — a  being  of  peculiar  des- 
tiny. Perhaps  the  daughter  of  her  father  and  mother, 
again  perhaps  not — perhaps  the — but  there,  the  pos- 
sibilities were  infinite,  and  she  exploited  a  new  one  almost 
every  oak-tree  day.  As  she  grew  older  and  could  no 
longer  imagine  herself  into  a  state  of  mind  in  which 
she  fancied  she  could  see  her  parents  trying  to  hide  a 
secret  of  her  birth  from  her,  she  turned  to  the  future 
for  mystery.  She  had  to  admit  to  herself  that  she  was 
probably — yes,  certainly — born  Maida  Claflin,  daugh- 
ter of  Horace  and  Janet  Claflin;  but  she  told  herself 
that  her  commonplaceness  ended  there,  and  that  with 
the  nearing  end  of  childhood's  apprenticeship  her  destiny 
would  be  disclosed.  Destiny !  Hours  on  hours  she 
would  sit  in  her  retreat,  with  eyes  closed  or  unseeing, 

26 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

with  her  fancy  flown  out  through  those  leafy  screens 
that  seemed  to  bring  the  infinite  to  their  very  other- 
side,  flown  out  to  explore  all  the  horizons  of  the  possible, 
and  of  the  impossible,  too,  in  human  destinies.  For  what 
wonderful  destiny  fate  had  set  her  apart  she  never  at- 
tempted to  decide;  but  she  believed  in  it  as  she  believed 
in  her  own  existence. 

Usually  these  fancies  are  killed  in  children  when 
the  routine  of  petty  fact  crushes  the  imagination  to 
death  and  reduces  them  to  matter-of-fact  mortals.  But 
in  those  who  like  Maida  have  imaginations  too  power- 
ful even  for  the  grindstones  of  fact,  some  part  of  child- 
hood's dream-life  persists — if  nothing  more,  at  least 
a  strong  sense  of  being  different  from  all  other  human 
beings  whatsoever,  past,  present  and  to  come,  a  strong 
longing  for,  and  hope  of,  a  destiny  lifted  high  above 
the  born-married-died  destiny  which  most  tombstones 
mark.  It  was  this  survival — idle  fancy  or  presentiment 
or  instinctive  sense  of  uncommon  gifts — that  caused 
Maida  to  hesitate  even  at  the  very  altar  of  marriage, 
fearful  lest  she  might  be  marring  her  destiny.  It  was 
this  that  made  her  so  much  more  eager  than  young 
Hickman  for  the  remote  and  uncertain  adventure  of 
New  York  when  it  so  curiously  offered.  It  was  this 
that  made  her  a  mystery  to  him  long  after  he  lost  for 
her  the  mystery  with  which  her  fancy  had  invested  him 
and  became  a  plain,  pleasant  open-book  to  her.  It  was 

27 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

this  that  held  her  head  high  when  her  flesh  was  tortur- 
ing under  the  lash  of  sordid  adversity.  And  it  was  this 
that  now  lifted  her,  against  her  will,  to  the  surface  of 
her  fathomless  flood  of  grief  and  buoyed  her  there. 

She  looked  round  her  poor  little  attic  chamber;  she 
forced  her  lips  to  curl  into  a  scornful  smile  at  her  fatu- 
ous imaginings,  her  mocking  intuitions.  But  scorn  was 
in  her  face  only;  within,  conviction  sat  undaunted. 
Destiny!  Hope  rode  high  upon  her  powerful  current 
of  life  which  had  poured  over  obstacle  after  obstacle 
unchecked  and  undiminished.  "  I  am  alone  again,"  she 
thought,  "  alone  and  free,  if  destiny  should  come." 

Her  wandering  glance  paused  upon  Hinkley's  "  The 
Book."  She  brought  it  to  her  seat  by  the  window.  It 
was  a  small  volume,  bound  in  black;  upon  the  cover, 
in  gold  block  letters,  was  stamped : 

THE   WAY   OF   THE   LIGHT, 

BY 

ANN   BANKS 

\ 
Underneath  the  name  of  the  author  was  a  sunburst, 

also  in  gold.  The  same  lettering  and  design  were  re- 
peated on  the  title-page,  with  this  addition :  "  Two 
hundred  and  seventh  thousand.  Published  by  The 
Light  Company,  Trenton,  N.  J.  U.  S.  A.  Price  $5." 
"  Five  times  two  hundred  and  seven  thousand,"  cal- 
culated Maida,  "  is  ten  hundred  and  thirty-five  thou- 

28 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

sand  dollars.  No  wonder  Will  is  so  prosperous — and 
believes  so  firmly.  Wouldn't  he  fight  against  un- 
belief !  "  But  immediately  she  was  ashamed  of  herself. 
"  How  New  York  has  poisoned  me !  "  she  said.  "  Cheap 
cynicism  that  smirches  everything  it  touches.  No  doubt 
he's  honest  about  this  new  religion,  and  would  love  it 
and  cling  to  it,  no  matter  to  what  poverty  and  misery 
it  led  him."  But  the  spirit  she  called  cynicism  and 
branded  "  New  York  "  would  not  down.  It  had  a  dif- 
ferent origin,  a  deeper  foundation — it  was  the  spirit  of 
this  day  of  science,  when  everything  is  taken  to  the 
laboratory,  there  to  be  weighed,  analyzed,  tested,  dis- 
solved into  its  component  atoms  of  matter  or  motive. 
"  Yes,  he  would  die  for  his  religion,"  she  thought. 
"  Yet  he  probably  deceives  himself  as  to  why  he  believes, 
just  as  we  all  deceive  ourselves  as  to  almost  everything. 
We  so  rarely  see  things  as  they  are — would  that  /  never 
did!" 

She  turned  the  page,  came  to  the  Preface,  read : 

What  I  have  set  forth  in  these  pages  is  not  a  new 
religion. 

Humanity  has  never  been  in  utter  darkness.  This  faith 
of  ours  is  the  latest  development  of  The  Religion  which  has 
been  the  essence  of  all  faiths  and  creeds.  As  The  Light  has 
passed  through  the  warping  prisms  of  sinful  minds,  it  has 
been  broken  into  many  colors.  Here,  at  last,  is  The  Light 
with  its  beam  unbroken,  clear,  pure  white  as  it  streams 
from  the  Great  All. 

3  29 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

The  essence  of  religion  is  Happiness.  Past  interpreters 
of  The  Light  have  called  this  Happiness  Heaven  or  Paradise 
or  Nirvana — always  a  state  to  be  attained  hereafter.  They 
have  professed  to  point  out  the  way  that  leads  to  Happiness. 

I  proclaim  The  Way  that  is  Happiness ! 

We  are  not  rushing  toward  eternity.     We  are  in  Eternity. 

Time,  Space,  Matter,  Death,  Disease,  Sin — all  these  are 
the  delusions  of  The  Darkness.  That  which  takes  away 
their  power  over  the  immortal  Mind  puts  in  their  place  a 
present  eternity  of  Life  and  Health.  The  Light  gives  Health 
of  Body  no  less  than  Health  of  Soul.  It  banishes  all  forms 
of  sin.  It  purifies  the  soul — the  Mind — and  thus  enables 
the  Mind  to  electrify  the  body  forever  as  in  childhood. 

I  come  to  assail  no  religion,  but  only  those  who  deliberately 
or  deludedly  use  The  Truth  for  their  private  ends,  holding 
themselves  and  their  followers  in  the  bonds  of  sin  by  making 
vain  promises  of  a  happiness  in  a  remote  hereafter.  I  come 
to  make  war  upon  doctors  of  divinity  who  enslave  souls  under 
the  pretext  of  healing  them,  and  upon  doctors  of  medicine 
who  enslave  bodies  under  the  pretext  of  healing  them.  As 
if  body  and  soul  were  not  one,  the  perfect  expression  of  The 
Light,  united  in  an  everlasting  marriage  which  only  sin  can 
loosen  in  so-called  sickness,  only  sin  can  dissolve  in  so-called 
death. 

'The  soul  that  sinneth,  it  shall  die."    And  the  body  also. 

What  wonder  that  the  churches  are  emptying !  What  won- 
der that  the  seats  of  the  scornful  are  thronged  !  What  won- 
der that  shameless  quackeries  in  theology  and  in  medicine 
are  preying  upon  the  despairing!  What  wonder  that  this  is 
an  age  of  materialism — that  hate  and  selfishness  are  en- 
throned !  What  wonder  that  the  strong  cry :  "Let  us  eat, 

30 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

drink  and  be  merry.  To-morrow  we  die.  Why  should  we 
not  drink  the  blood  of  our  brother  if  it  will  quench  our  thirst? 
Why  should  we  not  snatch  his  bread  and  add  it  to  our  own 
store  ?  Might  is  god — and  to-morrow  we  die." 

Men,  grown  more  intelligent,  see  The  Darkness  in  the 
alleged  light  they  hear  preached — see  The  Darkness  only. 

Reader,  would  you  have  Health,  Happiness,  Eternal  Life 
now?  Then  read  these  scriptures,  not  with  the  eye  of  the 
flesh,  the  eye  of  sin,  but  with  the  eye  of  The  Spirit. 

May  The  Light  shine  in  you ! 

ANN  BANKS. 

"  As  confident  as  other  quack  advertisements,"  said 
Maida — but  not  with  her  heart.  She  did  not  believe, 
she  did  not  think  that  she  might  believe;  but  her  heart 
said,  "  If  it  were  only  true !  "  Life — immortal  life — 
now!  Pain  and  sorrow  cured — Happiness!  She  had 
often  lingered  upon  the  mystery  of  mind — Mind,  the 
Sphinx,  whose  riddle  religion  after  religion  had  sought 
to  answer,  only  to  fail  and  fall.  And  she  had  seen  how 
the  will  could  be  trained  to  achieve  many  of  the  desires 
— why  not  indefinite  training,  indefinite  development, 
as  Ann  Banks  asserted?  It  had  begun,  a  feeble  thing 
unable  to  resist  the  feeblest  of  the  forces  of  nature.  It 
had  grown  until  now  man  was  able  to  use  them  all  up 
to  a  certain  point.  Why  assume  that  that  point  was 
eternally  fixed  ?  Why  should  not  the  will  move  on  from 
partial  control  to  complete  conquest? 

She  began  to  read  again.  Ann  Banks  had  extracted 
31 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

the  essences  of  the  mysterious  from  all  speculations  and 
dogmatizings,  savage  and  civilized,  Oriental  and  Occi- 
dental, ancient  and  modern,  priestly  and  philosophic; 
she  had  poured  these  extracts  into  a  mould  of  mysticism 
devised  by  herself — this  crucible  she  called  The  Light. 
And,  after  much  smelting  and  fusing  and  assaying  and 
re-casting,  out  had  come  this  modern  religion.  "  Sci- 
ence," cried  Ann  Banks,  "  has  broken  some  of  man's 
bonds,  but  it  is  making  him  only  the  more  wretched — 
for,  it  is  trying  to  convince  him  that  the  worst  bonds 
of  all,  the  bonds  of  Disease  and  Death,  can  not  be 
broken.  And  his  latest,  fondest  dream  of  freedom  is 
vanishing." 

As  Maida  was  reading  she  would  find  herself  grop- 
ing in  a  fog  after  a  wonderful  idea  which  always  just 
escaped  her;  and  again,  she  would  see  light  ahead, 
would  hear  voices  of  tenderness;  again,  fog,  and  the 
treacherous  marsh  of  credulity  under  her  feet,  and  the 
old  satanic  voices  taunting :  "  Nothing !  Pain,  Death, 
then — nothing !  "  But  she  read  on  and  on.  For,  under 
this  melting-pot  of  the  new  religion  burned  the  hot 
fire  of  a  personality  dominated  by  a  conviction.  A  per- 
sonality— that  was  it!  She  read  on  because  she  was 
drawn  by  one  of  those  mighty  human  magnets  that  take 
hold  through  the  dominant  instincts  of  human  nature — 
instincts  which  were  ancient  inhabitants  of  the  mind 
before  it  was  human,  instincts  beside  which  reason,  new- 

32 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

comer  of  humanity's  yesterday,  is  indeed  a  helpless 
infant. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  she  finished  "  The 
Book."  And  she  laid  it  down  with  an  unconscious  man- 
ner of  respect.  She  continued  to  think  of  it,  to  the 
exclusion  of  everything  else — those  dogmatic  assertions 
of  the  unity  of  soul  and  body,  of  the  unity  of  here  and 
hereafter;  that  fascinating  theory  that  disease  and 
death  are  but  two  forms  of  the  same  shadow,  sin ;  above 
all,  the  dynamic  personality  of  this  latest,  this  "  up-to- 
date  "  prophet,  essaying  to  provide  a  religion  for  those 
who  had  felt  compelled  to  surrender  their  Christianity 
to  the  imperious  demand  of  Science  but  who  still  cast 
longing  glances  into  space  beyond  the  exploded  mys- 
tery of  the  last  weighed  and  measured  star.  "  How 
we  do  long  to  believe !  "  thought  Maida.  "  This  re- 
ligion is  delusion,  perhaps  fraud.  Yet,  I  listen." 

And  when  her  light  was  out,  when  she  lay  alone, 
with  a  chill  upon  her  bosom  and  her  arms,  the  chill  of 
the  void  where  her  baby's  head  had  lain,  so  warm,  so 
alive— "The  Light!"  she  sobbed.  "Any  light!" 
She  would  have  said  a  week  before  that  nothing  could 
ever  stir  religious  faith  within  her  again — but,  then 
she  had  not  lost  her  child.  Now  she  almost  cried  out: 
"  I  must  believe  something!  And  why  should  not  Ann 
Banks  have  found  the  light — for,  there  must  be  light !  " 

She  turned  away  from  these  thoughts — mere  off- 
33 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

spring  of  sorrow,  she  regarded  them.  But  still  she  saw 
bright  upon  the  black  of  the  night,  luminous  eyes,  shed- 
ding hope  upon  her,  hope  and  healing;  and  she  had 
a  soothing  sense  of  strong  hands  holding  out  happi- 
ness. "  The  Mother-Light,"  she  murmured.  The  pe- 
culiar name  thrilled  her  like  a  strain  of  seraph  music 
as  she  lay  in  that  bare  attic,  with  the  misery  of  mor- 
tality enveloping  her,  with  heart  aching  and  bleeding 
in  loneliness  and  grief.  "  It  was  to  such  as  me,"  she 
thought,  "  to  the  slaves  and  pariahs  and  beggars  of  old 
Rome  that  the  Gospel  came.  No  wonder  they  heard 
Him  gladly."  Mother  and  Light — what  other  two 
words  came  so  near  to  summing  up  all  that  is  good  in 
life?  "  Mother,"  she  murmured,  between  drowsing 
and  dreaming,  "  Mother  and  Light — Mother-Light." 
And  she  slept. 

The  night's  impressions  seemed  fantastic  and  un- 
real in  the  daylight,  but  it  left  enough  of  them  for 
hope  to  wind  its  tendrils.  To  Hinkley's  questions  she 
replied :  "  It  may  be  your  book,  but  I  think  it  is  only 
my  own  state  of  mind." 

"  It  is  The  Light !  "  he  affirmed. 

"  It  certainly  is  longing  for  light,"  was  her  answer. 
"  I  cannot  live  on  in  the  dark." 

He  was  well  content.  He  offered  her  the  position  of 
secretary  and  companion  to  Ann  Banks.  She  accepted. 

34 


IV 


WHEN  she  drove  up  to  the  West  Twenty-third 
Street  station  the  following  night,  all  she  was  or  had 
in  the  world  was  there — the  bag  on  the  seat  opposite  her, 
the  trunk  on  the  roof,  herself — herself  an  utter  isolation, 
lost  sight  of  and  forgotten  by  those  who  used  to  know 
her,  in  the  way  to  be  forgotten  by  those  who,  coming 
into  contact  with  her  in  her  calamities,  feared  to  know 
or  even  to  note  her  lest  her  burdens  should  somehow  be 
added  to  their  own.  She  dwelt  upon  her  isolation  with 
pleasure,  for  she  felt  that,  thanks  to  it,  she  could  re- 
begin  life  as  freshly  as  if  she  were  born  again.  And 
she  had  a  sense  of  being  born  again,  of  being  loosened 
even  from  her  former  name.  "  I  used  to  belong  there," 
she  thought,  as  she  stood  on  the  deck  of  the  ferry-boat, 
looking  toward  the  myriad  lights  of  New  York.  It 
represented  the  whole  world  to  her  for  the  moment,  as 
much  as  if  she  had  been  voyaging  toward  the  moon. 
"  And  soon  I  shall  belong — somewhere  else.  Now — 
just  now — I  am  swinging  free  in  space."  Space!  She 
looked  straight  up  into  the  sky,  into  the  ocean  of  infin- 
ity. Whether  it  was  swept  by  the  fierce,  splendid  storms 
of  the  sunlight  or  lay  a  placid  lake  of  silver  and  gold 

35 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

and  blue  in  the  moonlight  or  sheltered  its  mystery  be- 
hind the  shimmering  veil  of  the  starlight,  it  had  always 
for  her  the  same  delight.  And  her  soul  seemed  to  leap 
from  her  body,  to  fly  streaming  like  a  comet  from  star 
to  star. 

Hinkley  met  her  at  the  landing  on  the  other  side, 
and  noted  with  an  approving  glance  that  she  was  wear- 
ing a  heavy  crepe  veil,  enough  to  cover  her  face,  her 
great  coil  of  auburn  hair.  That  was  a  silent  journey, 
he  reading  most  of  the  way  after  he  found  she  did  not 
wish  to  talk.  She  was  absorbed  not  in  thought,  but  in 
a  mood,  such  a  mood  as  she  had  often  given  herself  up 
to  in  her  dream-bower  in  the  old  oak  tree,  a  mood  that 
had  not  tempted  her  once  in  these  last  years  of  agonized 
struggle.  She  was  still  afloat  in  space — an  intoxicating 
sense  of  freedom,  vague  imaginings  the  more  alluring 
for  their  vagueness.  At  the  street  entrance  to  the  Tren- 
ton station  a  brougham  was  in  waiting,  its  coachman 
and  footman  in  livery.  She  noted  that  the  cockades  in 
their  hats  were  crimson  and  gold,  that  on  the  small  crim- 
son panel  in  the  door  of  the  brougham  there  was  a  gold 
sunburst — as  on  the  cover  of  "  The  Way  of  The 
Light." 

"  Your  trunk  will  be  brought  out  to-morrow,"  said 
Hinkley  as  he  helped  her  in.  The  footman  closed  the 
door  behind  them  and,  without  Hinkley's  giving  an 
order,  they  were  off  at  a  swift  trot — the  city  sleeping 

36 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

beside  its  night-lights;  then,  straggling  suburbs  with 
air  full  of  the  promise  of  the  open  country  blowing 
deliciously  upon  her  face ;  and  then,  the  fields  and  hills, 
the  low-hanging  moon,  the  brightest  stars,  the  breath 
of  nature.  Her  heart  was  beating  wildly  now,  and  the 
blood  was  thrilling  through  her. 

Well  within  the  half-hour  they  were  passing  a  high 
stone  wall,  trees  many  and  thick  looming  above  it.  The 
pace  slackened  for  a  short  turn,  and  they  were  dashing 
in  at  a  wide  gate-way  and  along  a  curving  drive.  The 
carriage  lamps  showed  that  its  broad  level  wound  through 
what  seemed  to  be  a  dense  forest.  Perhaps  a  quarter 
of  a  mile,  and  they  halted  before  a  square  house,  light- 
less,  lifting  vast  and  abrupt  above  the  gloom  of  the 
forest. 

"  Are  we — there  ?  "  she  asked  in  an  undertone — it 
would  not  have  been  easy  to  speak  in  the  natural  voice 
in  those  surroundings. 

"  No,"  Hinkley  told  her  in  the  same  tone.  "  This 
is  the  House  of  Pilgrims." 

The  footman  opened  the  carriage  door  and  they  des- 
cended, Hinkley  carrying  her  bag.  "  That  is  all  for 
to-night,  thank  you,"  he  said  to  the  two  servants. 
"  May  The  Light  shine  in  you  ever." 

"  And  in  you,"  responded  the  servants  in  chorus. 
The  footman  sprang  to  the  box;  the  carriage  sped 
away.  As  it  vanished  round  the  bend  in  the  drive,  the 

37 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

figure  of  a  man  was  slowly  disengaged  from  the  dark- 
ness of  the  doorway.  He  descended  the  steps  and  the 
walk  toward  them. 

"  Mr.  Casewell?  "  asked  Hinkley,  almost  under  his 
breath.  The  moon  had  now  set. 

"  May  The  Light  shine  in  you  ever,"  was  the 
answer,  in  the  same  cautious  tone. 

"  And  in  you,"  responded  Hinkley. 

"  I'll  lead,"  said  the  man — she  had  not  been  able  to 
see  his  face  or  to  make  out  anything  of  him  beyond 
that  he  was  short  and  was  extraordinarily  broad  in  the 
shoulders. 

Hinkley  was  still  carrying  her  bag.  "  Keep  close 
behind  him,"  he  said  to  her,  just  above  a  whisper. 
"  I'll  be  behind  you."  And  they  set  out,  along  the 
strip  of  grass  in  the  shadow  of  the  house  until  they 
came  to  a  walk  under  arching  trees.  They  followed 
this,  and  were  soon  in  the  woods.  It  had  been  dim; 
now  it  was  black.  Often  even  the  blur  "  Mr.  Casewell  " 
made  in  the  darkness  just  ahead  of  her  was  swallowed 
up  and  she  kept  the  bearings  by  sound  alone.  She 
was  astonished  that  she  had  not  the  least  qualm  of  fear. 
Her  mood  of  swinging  through  space  from  an  old  planet 
to  a  new,  of  swinging  through  eternity  from  an  old 
life  to  a  new,  was  still  upon  her.  And  the  mystery  of 
their  midnight  journey  and  the  mystery  of  the  goal  at 
the  end  of  it  was  like  wine  to  her  brain  and  nerves. 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

It  seemed  to  her  long,  yet  not  long — like  an  opium 
smoker's  moment  in  Nirvana  that  stretches  to  an  eter- 
nity all  too  short — and  they  were  directly  before  a  lofty 
wall — she  knew  it  was  a  wall  because  the  blackness  ahead 
of  her  was  flat  and  hard  instead  of  a  seemingly  endless 
concave  of  nothingness.  "  Mr.  Casewell  "  unlocked  a 
gate — how  her  heart  leaped  and  thrilled  at  the  click 
of  the  key  in  creaking  lock! — and  they  were  in  a  gar- 
den, at  least  so  she  guessed  it  was  while  they  were  wait- 
ing for  "  Mr.  Casewell "  to  lock  the  gate  again.  And 
not  far  ahead  she  saw  a  house — low,  apparently  with  a 
higher  part  beyond.  A  hundred  yards  and  they  were 
between  two  pillars  of  a  colonnade. 

"  Mr.  Casewell  "  fumbled  at  what  seemed  to  be  a 
door;  presently,  after  a  heavy  click  as  of  the  turning 
of  a  reluctant  bolt,  it  swung  back  and  he  vanished. 
"  Close  behind  me,"  Hinkley  said  to  her  in  his  natural 
voice,  as  if  no  longer  afraid  of  being  overheard. 
"  There  are  no  steps." 

It  was  a  carpeted  hall,  without  a  ray  of  light.  She 
had  counted  fifteen  of  her  steps,  when  "  Mr.  Casewell " 
flung  wide  a  door  and  she  was  standing  dazzled  in  the 
entrance  to  a  room.  To  her,  in  dimness  or  black  dark- 
ness since  she  left  the  railway  station,  the  light  was 
for  a  moment  overwhelming.  But,  when  her  pupils 
had  contracted,  she  saw  that  it  was  almost  a  twilight, 
diffused  from  a  shaded  electric  chandelier  in  the  mid- 
39 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

die  of  the  low  ceiling.  And  it  was  revealing  the  most 
attractive  room  she  had  ever  been  in.  An  Oriental  car- 
pet, with  a  shine  on  it  like  satin  but  less  glossy,  covered 
the  middle  of  the  hard-wood  floor;  there  were  teak 
wood  chairs  and  sofas  upholstered  with  silk  tapestry; 
one  large  and  two  small  tables,  curiously  carved,  the 
smallest  arranged  for  writing;  filled  bookcases;  the 
walls  wide  panels  of  some  dark  wood  alternating  with 
narrow  panels  of  mirrors.  The  room  seemed  almost 
huge  to  her,  so  long  used  to  cramped  quarters  in  New 
York  flats  and  lodging-houses. 

All  this  at  a  glance.  For,  as  soon  as  the  dazzled 
expression  from  the  sudden  light  left  her  face,  "  Mr. 
Casewell  "  had  stretched  out  his  hand  and  had  said : 
"  Welcome.  May  you  bring,  and  find,  happiness  here." 

She  instantly  liked  him — the  simple  heartiness  of 
his  voice,  the  firm  gentleness  of  his  grasp — a  hand  that 
held  to  help.  She  studied  him  openly — for,  instinct 
told  her  that  here  was  a  person  in  whose  power  her 
future  lay.  And  he  submitted  to  her  scrutiny  with 
amusement,  not  at  all  embarrassed.  First,  she  noted 
his  eyes — bright  blue,  laughing,  keen.  But  not  an 
open  keenness.  Rather,  they  seemed  to  be  looking 
through  a  mask — through  holes  in  a  mask  which  their 
glance  was  keen  enough  to  have  pierced  for  itself.  Yet 
they  were  not  sly  eyes.  Next,  she  saw  his  longish, 
snow-white  beard  balanced  by  a  startlingly  high  dome- 

40 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

like  forehead.  The  whole  top  of  his  head  was  bald, 
about  it  a  snowy  fringe  that  curled  under  at  the  back. 
His  skin  was  blond  and  rosy,  like  a  baby's,  as  young  as 
his  eyes  and  voice  and  grasp.  His  figure  verged  on 
the  squat  and  was  tremendous  through  the  shoulders; 
at  the  ends  of  arms  that  reached  too  far  toward  his 
knees  were  thick  white  muscular  hands.  His  nose — 
now  that  she  saw  it,  she  wondered  how  she  had  failed 
to  note  it  first  of  all.  It  was  a  long,  strong,  outward 
curve — a  nose  to  penetrate  through  the  thickest  armor 
of  pose  into  the  depths  of  the  real  man,  the  nose  of  the 
leader,  the  nose  of  courage  equal  in  defeat  or  victory. 

Mr.  Casewell,  whose  glance  had  not  been  idle  was 
nodding  approvingly.  "  I  like  you,"  he  said,  his  eyes 
as  merry  as  hickory  flames.  "  I  like  the  way  you  look 
and,  better  still,  I  like  the  way  you  look  at."  He  took 
both  her  hands.  "  May  The  Light  shine  in  you ! " 
His  deep  voice  trembled ;  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks  to 
hide  in  his  white  beard.  Then,  all  in  a  flash,  his  eyes 
were  twinkling  again — they  almost  seemed  to  be 
laughing  at  her  amazement  before  his  sudden  overflow 
of  apparently  causeless  emotion.  "  What  do  you  think 
of  your  quarters  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Is  this  the  room — I — we — we're  to  work  in  ?  "  she 
inquired  with  an  admiring  glance  round. 

"  No,  my  dear  child,"  he  replied.  "  This  is  your 
sitting-room.  And  through  that  door  there  is  your  bed- 

41 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

room  with  dressing  and  bath  rooms  adjoining — all 
yours." 

She  seated  herself,  and  then  she  noted  that  before 
her  there  was  an  open  fire  with  logs  piled  upon  great 
brass  andirons.  She  sighed  and  smiled  with  a  choke 
in  her  throat — after  so  much  storm,  what  a  haven! 
"  Please  don't  wake  me,"  she  said  to  Hinkley  with  her 
quick  dazzling  smile  which,  rippling  and  dancing  over 
her  usually  almost  sombre  face,  rarely  failed  to  sur- 
prise those  who  beheld  into  reflecting  it. 

Hinkley  laughed,  happy  as  a  boy  in  her  delight. 
"  Mr.  Casewell's  apartment  is  just  across  the  hall,"  he 
explained.  "  His  granddaughter's — Miss  Ransome's — • 
is  next  behind  yours.  I'm  down  at  the  other  end.  So, 
you  see,  you're  not  isolated." 

He  went  out,  reappearing  in  less  than  a  minute  with 
a  big  silver  tray  on  which  was  a  cold  supper.  Mr. 
Casewell  cleared  the  large  table  and  drew  it  near  the 
fire.  The  two  men  sat  at  the  ends,  she  between  them 
facing  the  fire.  She  had  eaten  almost  nothing  at  din- 
ner, and  she  now  felt  lighter  of  heart  than  she  had  ever 
thought  she  would  feel  again.  She  ate  with  the  appe- 
tite of  a  growing  girl  while  Mr.  Casewell  told  amusing 
stories  of  his  experiences  as  a  preacher  on  circuit  in 
Ohio  sixty  years  before — when  the  Indians  still  hoped 
to  drive  the  whites  back  east  of  the  Alleghanys. 

The  quaint  brass  hands  of  the  tall  clock  at  the  cor- 
42 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

ner  of  the  mantelpiece  pointed  half-past  one  when  he 
said :  "  But  we  must  go.  How  sleepy  the  child 
must  be." 

"  Ring  if  you  want  anything  in  the  morning,"  said 
Hinkley,  taking  up  the  tray.  "  The  gardens  are  en- 
closed— you  can  walk  there  if  you  wish  the  air.  I 
shan't  disturb  you  before  noon." 

Mr.  Casewell  bent  over  her  hand  and  kissed  it. 
"  May  The  Light  shine  in  you,"  he  said,  and  the  ten- 
derness in  his  solemn  tone  made  the  tears  come  to  her 
eyes. 

She  was  alone.  She  leaned  back  in  the  great  chair 
and  looked  slowly  round.  "  It's  a  dream,"  she  mur- 
mured. Then  she  repeated  it  aloud.  Her  glance  fell 
upon  the  door  which  Mr.  Casewell  had  said  led  to  her 
bedroom.  She  rose,  opened  it,  lifted  the  inside  curtain 
and  entered.  The  electric  light  on  the  night  stand  was 
turned  on  and  she  saw  that  she  was  in  another  luxurious 
room — the  bed  was  canopied ;  its  curtains  and  the  walls 
were  hung  with  dark  red  brocaded  silk;  the  furniture 
was  dark,  and  the  woodwork  also.  She  stood  by  the 
bed — it  was,  rather,  a  very  wide  and  very  long  couch, 
and  the  covers  were  of  silk  and  eider-down  and  the 
finest  linen.  She  saw  the  open  bathroom  door  and  en- 
tered— a  pool  sunk  in  a  tiled  floor;  tiling  half  way  to 
the  ceiling;  everything  in  readiness.  There  was  even 
a  huge  bottle  of  violet  toilet  water. 

43 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

Then  to  the  dressing-room — simple  but  fine  furni- 
ture; many  things  of  which  she  could  only  guess  the 
uses;  on  the  dressing-table  all  kinds  of  articles  which  a 
woman  of  fashion  might  need.  As  she  stood  there,  ad- 
miring, wondering,  the  profound  silence  and  the  atmos- 
phere of  mystery  and  her  own  over-tense  nerves  made 
her  wheel  sharply,  her  hands  clasped  against  her  bosom, 
her  breath  failing,  the  blood  stinging  her  skin.  But 
she  could  see  no  one.  She  darted  out,  closing  the  door 
and  locking  it  and  leaning  against  it. 

Her  glance  roamed  nervously  round  the  bedroom — 
nothing  and  no  place  where  anyone  could  hide.  But 
she  was  not  calm  until  she  had  seated  herself  again  at 
the  sitting-room  fire.  It  vividly  and  reassuringly  re- 
minded her  of  the  existence  and  the  nearness  and  the 
thoughtfulness  of  her  old  friend  and  her  new  one. 
Thinking  of  the  dressing-room,  she  remembered  that 
everything  in  it,  indeed  everything  in  the  whole  apart- 
ment, was  new  with  the  newness  of  that  which  has  not 
been  used  at  all.  But  her  mind  was  too  heavy.  "  I 
must  go  to  bed,"  she  said  drowsily,  "  or  I  shall  fall 
asleep  here  in  the  firelight " 

She  rose  from  her  chair  with  a  bound,  her  heart 
beating  wildly.  "  Who  put  out  the  light?  "  she  gasped 
— she  had  just  noticed  that  the  only  light  was  from 
the  fire;  yet,  when  she  had  left  the  room  not  ten  min- 
utes before  the  lamps  of  the  chandelier  certainly  were 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

on.  "  And  who  moved  the  table  back  into  place? " 
Hinkley  and  Mr.  Casewell  had  left  it  in  front  of  the 
fire.  "  That  screen  was  put  round  the  fire  while  I  was 
inside."  There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it — someone 
had  been  in  the  room.  And  she  had  locked  the  hall  door 
when  the  two  men  left!  To  make  sure  she  tried  it, 
found  it  locked. 

"  Who's  here  ?  "  she  called.  After  a  wait,  she  called 
again  more  loudly.  A  third  time,  at  the  top  of  her 
voice,  imperiously,  "  Who's  here,  I  say !  Answer,  or 
I'll  ring!" 

But  there  was  no  answer.  She  hesitated  at  the  bell- 
button.  "  I'm  in  no  condition  to  be  positive  about  any- 
thing," she  reflected.  "  There's  certainly  no  one  here. 
And  what  excuse  could  I  make  to  whoever  came?  "  Yes, 
the  strangeness  of  it  all,  the  mystery,  the  sense  of 
greater  mystery  impending,  must  have  made  her  forget. 
Her  natural  indifference  to  danger  came  slowly  back. 

She  contented  herself  with  making  a  tour  of  the 
rooms.  She  locked  the  door  leading  into  the  sitting- 
room.  She  took  a  hot  bath  and  went  to  bed.  "  I  shan't 
sleep,"  she  said,  for  she  still  felt  wide-awake.  But  it 
was  a  wonderfully  soft,  reassuring  kind  of  bed;  the 
night-dress,  one  she  had  found  on  the  pillows  ready  for 
her,  was  of  a  thin  white  material  that  soothed  her  skin 
like  the  stroke  of  delicate  fingers.  She  fell  almost  imme- 
diately into  a  sound  sleep. 

4  45 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

When  she  awoke,  she  was  certain  she  had  been  asleep 
a  few  minutes  at  most.  She  heard  someone  moving 
about  in  the  sitting-room.  "  And  I  locked  the  outside 
door ! "  she  thought,  bolt  upright  in  an  instant.  She 
called:  "  Who's  there?  " 

Someone  tried  the  bedroom  door.  A  voice — a 
sweet,  youthful,  feminine  voice — said :  "  The  door  is 
locked." 

She  crossed  the  floor  in  her  bare  feet,  threw  back  the 
curtain  and  turned  the  key.  As  she  did  it,  she  noted 
that  the  room  was  not  lighted  by  the  electric  lamp  she 
had  left  burning  on  the  night-stand,  but  by  light  from 
the  windows — sunlight.  She  hurried  back  to  bed — the 
room  was  chilly.  "  Come  in !  "  she  called. 

The  door  opened  and  she  couldn't  restrain  a  smile; 
her  anxiety  seemed  so  ludicrous  now  that  she  saw 
who  had  been  causing  it.  On  the  threshold  stood  a 
young  woman,  dressed  much  like  a  maid  yet  looking 
out  of  her  eyes  like  one  who  had  never  served.  And 
they  were  pretty,  bright,  blue-gray  eyes,  suggesting 
Mr.  Casewell's  but  finer  and  softer.  The  rest  of  her 
face  was  attractive,  especially  her  golden  hair  and  fresh 
rosy  mouth.  Her  figure  was  small  but  perfect. 

"  Did  I  wake  you  ?  "  she  asked,  her  eyes  friendly, 
her  sweet  voice  regretful. 

"  How  did  you  get  in  ?  "  said  Maida. 

"  Why,"  explained  the  young  woman,  "  you  had 
46 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

locked  all  the  doors.     So  I  had  to  come  by  the  private 
way." 

"  Were  you  in  there  last  night  ?  " 

She  smiled  charmingly.  "  I  couldn't  wait — I  wanted 
to  see  you.  So  I  came  as  soon  as  I  heard  grandfather 
and  Mr.  Hinkley  go  away.  But  you'd  gone  to  bed, 
and  I  only  stayed  a  minute  or  two  and  was  very  quiet. 
Did  you  mind?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  Maida  couldn't  help  saying.  "  If 
you'll  only  tell  me  how  you  got  in." 

"  I'll  show  you,"  said  the  girl. 

Maida  threw  off  the  covers,  thrust  her  feet  into  the 
slippers  at  the  bedside  and  followed  the  girl  to  the  sit- 
ting-room. The  large  panel  in  the  wainscoting  to  the 
right  of  the  fireplace  was  open.  The  girl  pushed  it 
shut  and  at  once  there  was  no  hint  of  a  doorway. 

"  Are  there  other  doors  like  that  ?  "  asked  Maida. 

"  Not  in  this  apartment,"  the  girl  replied.  "  At 
least,  I  think  not." 

"  I'd  like  to  know,"  said  Maida. 

The  girl  laughed.  "  Yes,  I  should  think  you  would 
— being  a  stranger." 

"  You  are  Mr.  Casewell's  granddaughter?  " 

The  girl  nodded.  "  Molly — Margaret  Ransome," 
she  said.  "  And  I'm  to  be  your  maid,  for  the  present." 

"  You'll  be  nothing  of  the  sort,"  protested  Maida. 
"  I'll  wait  on  myself — I  always  have." 

47 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

Molly  shook  her  head.  "  No — grandfather  has 
ordered  it.  Besides,  it'll  give  me  occupation.  It  doesn't 
take  any  time  at  all  to  do  what  little  I  have  to  do  for 
the  Mother-Light."  Here  Molly  closed  her  eyes,  raised 
and  lowered  her  head  slowly  three  times,  moved  her 
lips  in  murmuring  some  phrase  which  Maida  couldn't 
catch.  "  And,"  she  went  on,  "  I  love  housework.  I'd 
so  much  rather  do  it  than  fuss  with  '  lady-like  '  things." 

Maida  happened  to  glance  at  the  clock.  "  Half- 
past  eleven ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  must  dress.  Mr. 
Hinkley  will  be  here  before  I  can  get  ready." 

"  I'll  bring  you  your  breakfast,"  said  Molly.  And 
she  disappeared  by  the  "  private  way." 

Maida  stared  after  her,  stared  at  the  panel  now 
tightly  in  place.  "  What  a  strange  house !  "  she  said 
aloud.  "  And  why  was  it  built  so  strangely  ?  "  But 
as  she  dressed,  her  light-heartedness  of  the  supper-time 
the  night  before  returned.  And  when  she  looked  from  a 
window  into  the  garden,  as  attractive  as  a  garden  could 
be  made  in  September,  she  felt  an  inward  glow  of  con- 
tent. 

Her  glance,  lifting  from  the  green  of  garden  and 
mounting  in  her  favorite  excursion  the  sparkling  steeps 
of  the  universe  of  pure  light,  took  her  heart  with  it. 
And  in  fancy  she  paused,  now  upon  cloud-peak  of  ruby, 
now  upon  cloud-peak  of  gold  or  silver  or  emerald  or 
ethereal  marble,  to  indulge  this  affinity  of  hers  for 

48 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

light,  to  drink  in  light  with  all  her  senses.  And  the 
mystery  of  her  new  earthly  surroundings  faded  into 
triviality  before  these  dazzling  mysteries  of  her  own 
being  and  of  the  shoreless  stretches  of  infinity  where 
ebbed  and  flowed  from  eternity  to  eternity  the  seas  of 
living  light. 


WHEN  she  went  again  into  the  sitting-room,  her 
breakfast  was  on  the  large  table  but  Molly  had  gone. 
Just  as  she  seated  herself  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door 
into  the  hall.  She  opened  it — Hinkley  was  standing 
there,  dressed  in  the  long,  black  house-robe  of  a  priest, 
in  one  hand  a  crimson  biretta,  in  the  other  a  bunch  of 
hot-house  roses. 

"  Oh — it's  you !  "  she  said,  in  a  tone  that  mingled 
welcome  and  disappointment.  "  I'm  so  glad." 

He  took  his  gaze  from  her  face  reluctantly.  "  But 
you  rather  hoped  it'd  be  someone  else,  didn't  you?  " 
he  said,  smiling. 

"  It's  so  unusual  here.  I'm  always  expecting 
another  mystery,"  she  confessed. 

He  gave  her  the  roses.  She  buried  her  face  in  them. 
When  she  raised  it  to  thank  him  she  had  some  color,  as 
if  she  had  borrowed  of  the  roses.  While  she  was  ar- 
ranging them  in  the  vase  on  a  pedestal  in  the  corner, 
she  glanced  at  him  now  and  then  by  way  of  one  of  the 
mirror  panels.  And  she  noted,  not  without  a  certain 
satisfaction,  that  he  was  taking  advantage  of  his  fancied 

50 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

freedom  from  observation  openly  to  show  admiration — 
and  more. 

"  I  slept  nine  hours,"  she  said. 

"  It's  made  an  amazing  change  in  you,"  he  replied. 
"  You  don't  look  like  the  same  person  you  were  yes- 
terday— literally." 

"  I'm  not,"  she  said,  turning.  "  That  was  a  magic 
bed  I  slept  in." 

His  eyes  lit  up  with  that  intense  expression  which 
she  had  learned  to  associate  with  his  religion.  "  You 
spoke  more  truly  than  you  know,"  was  his  comment  in 
a  significant  tone. 

She  felt  vaguely  embarrassed.  "  I  don't  believe  my 
nerves  have  slept  for  years  until  last  night,"  she  went 
on,  returning  to  the  table  and  beginning  her  breakfast, 
he  seating  himself  opposite  her.  "  I've  been  feeling  so 
old — so  old — as  if  I'd  been  let  grow  old  as — as  the 
grandmother  of  the  human  race,  and  then  condemned 
to  live  at  that  age  forever.  But — "  she  flooded  him 
with  the  sunshine  of  her  smile — "  a  few  days  and  I'll 
feel  as  young  as  Molly.  What  a  beautiful,  blooming 
eighteen  she  is !  I  shouldn't  have  believed  a  girl  could 
look  so  healthy,  yet  so  fine  and  delicate.  Usually  very 
healthy  looking  women  suggest  kitchen-garden  flowers, 
don't  you  think?" 

"  So  you  guess  Molly's  age  as  eighteen  ? "  said 
Hinkley. 

51 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  Is  she  only  seventeen?  " 

"She's  thirty." 

"  Impossible !     Not  a  day  over  twenty." 

"  You  forget,"  he  said,  "  that  she  was  born  in  The 
Light.  The  Darkness  has  never  touched  either  her 
soul  or  her  body." 

"  Oh !  "  was  Maida's  only  answer,  with  a  vague  look 
and  feeling. 

After  a  strained  silence,  he  asked  her  if  she  found 
her  apartment  comfortable.  "  Any  changes  you  wish 
shall  be  made,"  he  said.  "  But  you'll  have  to  keep  this 
apartment — for  the  present.  It's  the  only  one  avail- 
able. The  other  wing  is  more  or  less  public." 

"  You  know  what  I've  been  used  to — in  New  York," 
she  answered.  "  So  you  can  imagine  how  perfect  this 
seems  here.  Already  I'm  completely  unfitted  to  go  back 
to  one  room  and  the  bath  on  the  floor  below  at  the  other 
end  of  the  hall.  I  ought  not  to  have  come." 

"  Why  not?  "  he  inquired. 

She  did  not  answer  for  several  minutes.  Then  she 
said,  absently :  "  It's  all  very  strange,  Will,  but  the 
strangest  thing  to  me,  is  my  own  feeling  about  it. 
Three  days  ago  I  had  never  heard  of  this  place,  and  I 
never  saw  it  until  less  than  twelve  hours  ago.  Yet — I 
feel  as  much  at  home  here,  feel  as  much  that  it  is  part 
of  my  life,  of  myself,  as  if  it  were  the  old  home  out 
West  and  I  had  never  left  it." 

52 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

She  did  not  see  his  eyes  close  and  his  lips  move. 
Presently  he  said  aloud :  "  It  is  yours,  Maida — yours 
— forever." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  That  can't  be.  Even  if — I 
like  the  position,  and — she — likes  me — still —  You  told 
me  she  was  more  than  eighty,  didn't  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  adding,  after  deliberation  and 
with  an  effort  that  made  him  color — "  and  not  in  very 
good  health." 

"  Then,  you  yourself  must  see — "  she  began,  but 
halted  abruptly  to  give  him  a  quick  glance  of  amaze- 
ment. His  admission  was  obviously  a  denial  of  his  re- 
ligion, branded  it  a  fraud  and  himself  a  hypocrite. 

"  Do  not  judge  until  you  know,"  he  said  earnestly, 
looking  straight  at  her.  "  I  see  what  you  are  thinking. 
Her  old  age,  her  feebleness — they  are  only  another  of 
those  mysteries  that  baffle  us,  that  test  our  faith,  at 
every  turn.  I — we — she — thought  she  had  been  freed 
from  the  bondage  of  sin.  She  hasn't  been — wholly — 
that's  all." 

Maida  was  lying  back  in  her  chair,  so  sick  at  heart 
that  she  felt  weak  and  tired.  So  this  was  the  mystery 
of  Ann  Banks.  And  she  had  come  to  be  companion  to 
a  dying  old  woman — that  was  her  "  destiny."  "  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  before  we  left  New  York  ? "  she 
asked,  rousing  herself  but  not  venturing  to  look  at 
him. 

53 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  Partly  because  I  feared  you  wouldn't  come,"  he 
answered  frankly.  "  Partly — chiefly — because  I  then 
had  no  authority  to  trust  you  with  the  secret  of  our 
faith.  Mr.  Casewell  told  me  to  tell  you." 

"Why?"  she  asked. 

"  He  said,  '  She  can  be  trusted.  She  will  stay  with 
us — will  work  with  us.' '  Hinkley  hesitated,  then, 
watching  her  narrowly  in  a  breathless  way,  went  on: 
"  He  said,  *  She  does  not  realize  it  yet,  but  The  Light 
shines  in  her.' ' 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Maida,  sinking  back  in  her  chair. 
The  color  slowly  faded  from  her  face,  from  her  lips; 
her  wide  eyes,  fixed  upon  vacancy,  seemed  to  be  seeing 
there  some  vision  that  held  her  enthralled.  What  was 
she  thinking?  She  did  not  herself  know;  she  was  only 
listening — listening  to  that  evasive,  soundless  voice 
which  had  been  calling  to  her  ever  since  she  was  a  child, 
which  seemed  to  have  been  roused  by  the  repeated  words 
of  Mr.  Casewell,  seemed  to  be  calling  to  her  now. 

"  But  the  deception — the  deception,"  she  said. 
"  Why  conceal  the  truth  from  the  world?  Why  should 
The  Truth  be  afraid  of  the  truth?  " 

"  The  Truth  is  not  afraid  of  the  truth,"  he  answered. 
"  The  Light  is  not  protecting  itself  against  light  but 
against  The  Darkness.  She — that  is,  The  Light  of 
which  she  is  to  her  disciples  the  embodiment — has  more 
than  a  hundred  thousand  followers — in  all  parts  of  the 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

world — in  all  stages  of  spiritual  strength  and  feeble- 
ness. To  them,  belief  in  her — because  they  see  The 
Light  only  through  her — means  happiness,  peace, 
health,  life — yes,  life !  Destroy  their  belief  in  her,  and 
you  put  out  The  Light  for  them,  you  plunge  them 
back  into  the  darkness.  Maida,  I  would  fling  myself 
into  a  slow  fire  and  burn  to  death  before  I  would  do 
such  a  thing !  "  He  was  standing,  his  voice  high,  his 
eyes  ablaze — the  fanatic  in  all  his  splendor  and  all  his 
terror  and  all  his  power  to  sway. 

"  But  the  end,"  she  said.  "  For,  there  must  be  an 
end." 

"  We  can  only  wait  and  watch  for  guidance,"  he 
answered.  "  It  may  be  The  Light  in  her  will  yet  tri- 
umph over  The  Darkness.  There  have  been  several 
miracles  of  recovery  wrought  in  her.  But,  we  cannot 
know.  We  simply  use  what  means  our  feeble  resources 
put  in  our  power  to  preserve  The  Light's  conquests  in 
the  dominions  of  The  Darkness.  If  we  are  wrong,  then, 
the  sin  is  ours  and  the  consequences  be  upon  us.  But, 
at  any  cost,  The  Light  must  shine  on ! " 

"  And  you  trust  this  secret  to  me?  "  she  said,  in 
wonder. 

"  Why  shouldn't  we  ?  "  he  answered.  "  Have  we 
not  had  leading  from  The  Light  itself?  " 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  hall  door.  Maida  started 
and  gazed  toward  it.  Hinkley,  with  his  hand  on  the 

55 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

knob,  looked  at  her  for  permission  to  open.  She  nod- 
ded. As  the  door  swung  back  Mr.  Casewell,  in  a  robe 
like  Hinkley's,  but  without  a  biretta,  entered  and  swept 
the  room  with  one  of  his  drag-net  glances — he  seemed 
to  take  in  not  only  every  article  within  the  four  walls, 
not  only  every  detail  of  her  appearance,  but  also  the 
very  thoughts  of  her  brain. 

"  You  have  told  her,"  he  said  to  Hinkley — an  ap- 
proving affirmation.  Then  he  turned  to  her  with  a 
smile  that  sparkled  on  his  face  and  great  white  beard 
like  sunshine  on  new-fallen  snow.  And  she  brightened 
and  felt  as  if  clouds  were  rolling  back  from  her  sky,  as 
if  there  were  nothing  on  earth  she  so  much  wished 
as  to  stand  with  this  wonderful,  magnetic,  old-young 
or  young-old  leader,  and  help  him  and  be  helped  by 
him. 

He  addressed  Hinkley :  "  She  is  better  this  morn- 
ing— much  better.  She  will  make  the  apparition." 

Hinkley  became  radiant.  "  That  will  give  the  lie 
to  those  reports.  Doubts  will  be  silenced,  and  faith 
confirmed." 

"  At  half-past  two,"  continued  Mr.  Casewell. 
"  Just  after  my  reading."  And  he  nodded  and  beamed 
at  her  and  was  gone,  leaving  brightness  behind  him  to 
keep  her  convinced  that  somehow  the  whole  complexion 
of  the  situation  was  changed,  that  what  had  looked  black 
had  looked  so  only  because  light  was  not  shining  upon 

56 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

it,  that  he  would  presently  turn  light  upon  it,  and  show 
that  it  was  indeed  white. 

"  An  assembly  of  delegates  from  the  Eastern  States," 
explained  Hinkley,  "  begins  to-day — in  the  Hall  of  The 
Light.  She  is  to  appear — it's  the  first  time  in  nearly 
two  years.  The  papers  and  all  the  scoffers  have  been 
saying  that  the  Mother-Light " — the  usual  pause  and 
the  ceremonial — "  was  ill,  was  dying." 

"  But  won't  the  sight  of  her — won't  they  all  see — " 
stammered  Maida. 

The  look  of  pride,  of  defiant  pride — "  a  sort  of  bat- 
tle look  "  she  thought — which  he  had  worn  since  Mr. 
Casewell  told  him  the  news,  did  not  change.  "  You 
can  judge  for  yourself,"  he  replied.  "  I'll  send  Molly 
to  take  you." 

He  had  to  leave  at  once,  to  prepare  for  "  the  ap- 
parition." She  put  on  a  coat  before  going  into  the 
garden — for,  although  it  was  not  yet  October,  the  day 
was  sharp.  Hats  she  never  wore  when  she  could  avoid 
it;  her  hair  was  so  thick  and  so  long  that  by  itself  it 
gave  her  head  more  covering  than  was  ever  needed.  The 
garden,  she  found,  was  perhaps  five  hundred  yards  long 
by  one  hundred  and  fifty  wide;  the  stone  wall  around 
three  sides  of  it  was  about  three  times  the  height  of  her 
head  and  spiked  along  the  top.  The  fourth  side  was 
filled  by  the  end  of  the  wing  where  her  rooms  were. 
Thus,  with  entrances  only  from  the  wing  and  through 

57 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

the  solid  gate,  that  miniature  park  was  completely  shut 
off  from  observation  except  through  the  windows  of  her 
suite  and  the  suite  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall — Mr. 
Casewell's. 

The  wing  was  one  tall  story  high.  Over  the  roof 
she  saw  the  blank  wall  of  the  middle  part  of  the  house 
which  rose  another  story  and  a  half.  To  the  left,  ap- 
parently separated  from  the  house,  rose  the  great  domed 
roof  of  a  building  which  she  thought  must  be  the  Hall 
of  The  Light.  Above  the  dome  floated  an  enormous 
crimson  silk  banner,  in  its  center  a  sunburst  embroid- 
ered in  gold  thread.  And  the  breeze,  lifting  the  ban- 
ner and  slowly  rippling  it,  made  the  sunshine  flash  from 
the  sunburst  and  transform  it  into  a  golden  fire.  It 
roused  all  her  passionate  adoration  of  light.  As  she 
looked,  there  poured  over  the  wall  the  tremendous  cata- 
ract of  sound  from  a  cathedral  organ.  And  she  thrilled 
as  if  that  dazzling  banner  of  blood  and  fire  were  the 
battle-flag  of  some  glorious  cause,  as  if  it  were  the 
symbol  to  her  of  high  thoughts  and  aspirations.  She 
did  not  walk.  She  stood  where  she  had  paused,  gazing 
upon  the  banner  with  shining  eyes,  listening  with 
soul  swaying  in  those  lifting  billows  of  melody.  Her 
reason  watched  her,  amazed  and  powerless.  "  If  I  stay 
on  here,"  she  was  thinking,  "  I  wonder  if  I  shan't  come 
to  believe,  just  as  these  others  do — or  seem  to.  I'm 
like  everybody  else — susceptible  through  my  nerves  and 

58 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 


senses.  And  who  is  strong  enough  to  disbelieve  what 
everyone  around  him  accepts  as  true?  Besides,  how 
happy  they  are !  " 

As  if  to  confirm  this  last,  she  now  saw  Molly,  in  a 
fashionable  fall  costume,  coming  toward  her.  "  There 
must  be  something,"  she  reflected,  "  in  a  faith  that  can 
make  a  woman  of  thirty  look  like  that."  Molly  seemed 
a  girl  hesitating  upon  the  very  threshold  of  woman- 
hood. There  wasn't  a  crease  in  the  smooth  skin;  not 
the  smallest  break  in  that  soft  outline  of  chin  and  cheek 
which  is  perfect  only  in  the  youth  of  Youth.  And 
in  her  eyes  the  just  awakened  interest  in  life,  the  won- 
der at  it,  the  joy  in  anticipation  of  the  fulfilment 
of  its  promises  of  joy.  That  certainly  couldn't  nor- 
mally survive  the  disillusionments  of  a  dozen  grown- 
up years. 

"  We've  got  to  sit  in  the  private  box,"  Molly  began. 
"  And  no  one  can  see  us  there — and — don't  you  like  my 
new  dress  ?  " 

Maida  easily  supplied  the  unspoken  regret  between 
the  remark  about  the  private  box  where  "  no  one  can 
see  us  "  and  the  remark  about  the  new  dress.  "  Let's 
sit  with  the  others,"  said  she.  "  Or,  you  can  take  me 
to  the  box  and  go  away." 

"  I've  been  here  too  long  to  think  of  changing  my 
orders,"  replied  Molly. 

"  You  can't  have  been  here  so  very  long,"  said 
59 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

Maida.  "  I  don't  believe  it.  You  came  on  earth  only 
yesterday — anyone  could  see  that  at  a  glance." 

"  I  was  thirty  last  July,"  Molly  answered.  "  Don't 
let  my  looks  deceive  you — or  my  way  of  talking,  either. 
My  looks — you  know,  we  of  The  Light  can't  grow  old." 
She  gazed  reverently  toward  the  crimson  banner. 
"  Then  my  way  of  talking — that's  the  result  of  grand- 
father's theory.  He  thought  a  child  should  be  brought 
up  to  know  everything,  to  understand  everything,  and 
not  to  get  a  false  point  of  view  and  false  information 
from  ignorant  or  coarse  people." 

If  there  is  fraud,  thought  Maida,  Mr.  Casewell  must 
be  the  arch-cheat.  If  hypocrisy,  he  must  be  the  arch- 
hypocrite.  Yet  here  is  Molly,  the  product  of  this  re- 
ligion. Certainly,  an  education  and  a  faith  that  have 
made  such  a  human  being,  such  mental  and  physical 
and  moral  beauty  as  hers,  can't  be  roguery,  couldn't  be 
the  life-work  of  a  rogue.  And  she  said  to  herself :  "  It 
is  easier  to  accept  the  doubtful  things  without  question, 
isn't  it,  than  to  believe  evil  of  Mr.  Casewell  and  Molly 
and  Will?" 

The  two  young  women  returned  to  the  wing,  went 
through  the  hall  to  a  cross  hall,  down  a  flight  of  steps, 
along  a  tunnel — Maida  assumed  that  it  was  a  tunnel 
because  of  the  descent  and  because  light  came  through 
the  heavy  clouded-glass  roof  only.  Perhaps  fifty  yards, 
and  they  ascended  steps  that  narrowed  after  the  first 

60 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

landing.  They  emerged  into  a  dark,  closely  curtained 
box.  Themselves  unseen,  they  were  looking  out  upon  a 
great  amphitheater.  It  was  lighted  by  electricity — 
there  were  no  windows. 

As  Maida  gazed  she  marveled  and  admired.  The 
ceiling  was  a  huge  concave  decorated  with  a  single 
golden  sunburst  whose  crimson  background  just  showed 
where  the  ceiling  curved  into  the  walls.  In  place  of 
windows  were  deep  niches  with  colossal  statues  in  them — 
female  figures,  majestic,  graceful,  carved  out  of  grayish 
marble.  Under  each  figure  was  a  name — Truth,  Jus- 
tice, Mercy,  Wisdom,  Love,  Beauty.  On  either  side  of 
the  stage  was  a  colossal  seated  figure — to  the  left  Health, 
to  the  right  Life.  The  wings  of  the  stage — it  was, 
rather,  a  platform  shaded  by  an  enormous  sounding- 
board — were  filled  with  the  pipes  of  the  organ.  In 
front  was  a  small  reading-stand  with  a  crimson  banner 
draped  over  it.  Immediately  beneath  sat  the  choir — 
perhaps  a  hundred  men  and  boys  in  white  robes.  In 
the  seats  of  the  amphitheater  was  an  audience — a  con- 
gregation— of  perhaps  four  thousand.  Maida's  first 
thought  was :  "  Why,  there  are  almost  as  many  men 
as  women."  Then  she  marveled  at  the  high  average 
of  intelligence  in  the  faces  she  could  see.  And  she  also 
noted  that  there  was  not  a  poorly  dressed  person  to  be 
seen,  while  hundreds  were  as  fashionable  as  Molly. 

Mr.  Casewell,  in  white  surplice,  was  reading — from 
5  61 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  The  Way  of  The  Light."  Maida  listened  with  grow- 
ing amazement.  "  Was  I  mistaken  or  am  I  deceived 
now  ?  "  she  asked  herself.  For,  read  in  his  sonorous, 
reverent  voice,  "  The  Book  "  was  wholly  different.  Sen- 
tences that  had  seemed  to  her  commonplace  took  on 
dignity  and  wisdom;  sentences  that  had  seemed  obscure 
sounded  eloquent  and  profound;  sentences  that  had 
seemed  mere  jumbles  of  polysyllables,  now  were  like  the 
inspired  utterances  of  some  lofty  mystic  whose  meaning 
might  easily  elude  the  dull,  gross  brain. 

Maida  glanced  at  Molly — her  expression  was  rapt, 
thrilled  even,  like  that  of  all  whose  faces  she  was  able 
clearly  to  see.  "  I  suppose,"  she  decided,  "  if  I  had 
got  into  the  habit  of  hearing  that  book  read  as  some- 
thing supernatural,  if  I  had  been  brought  up  on  it,  I'd 
think  it  as  wonderful  as  Mr.  Casewell's  voice  makes  it 
seem.  How  much  depends  on  one's  point  of  view !  " 

Mr.  Casewell  ended.  "  May  The  Light  shine  in  you 
ever ! "  he  boomed  in  the  mellowest  tones  of  his  golden 
voice,  as  he  opened  his  arms  in  a  gesture  of  benediction. 
Immediately  upon  his  last  word  the  mighty  organ  lifted 
up  its  voice  in  a  ponderous,  gently  rolling  billow  of 
sound  that  swept  through  and  over  that  audience,  mak- 
ing every  soul  there  sway  and  tremble  in  the  rhythmic 
surge.  And  from  the  choir  swelled  an  "  Amen !  "  like 
a  sigh  of  ecstasy.  The  thrills  were  racing  up  and  down 
Maida's  back  and  her  cheeks  were  burning. 

62 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

The  lights — they  were  all  round  the  edge  of  the 
domed  ceiling — slowly  paled.  Only  the  dimmer  foot- 
lights of  the  stage  remained  bright,  and  these  sent  out  a 
rose-colored  glow.  Mr.  Casewell  had  withdrawn;  the 
small  reading-stand  sank  into  the  floor.  Maida  now 
noted  that  the  background  of  the  stage  was  a  pair  of 
heavy  crimson  silk  curtains,  a  sunburst  embroidered 
upon  each.  These  slowly  parted.  Amid  a  silence  so 
profound  that  all  possibility  of  sound  seemed  engulfed 
in  its  abyss  forever,  a  throne  came  into  view — a  throne 
of  gold,  a  woman  seated  upon  it.  She  stood — what  was 
she  like?  Maida  could  not  tell.  She  saw  that  the  tall, 
slender  figure  was  draped  in  a  robe  of  soft  white  silk 
sprinkled  with  embroidered  sunbursts.  She  saw  that  the 
face  was  majestic  and  in  a  glow  of  health,  that  there 
were  large,  brilliant  eyes,  that  the  hair,  the  abundant 
hair,  as  bronze  as  her  own,  was  arranged  in  puffs — 
puffs  piled  high  in  front,  puffs  at  the  sides — a  curious, 
luminous  casque  of  golden  bronze.  But  what  was  the 
woman  like  ?  Was  she  old  or  young,  handsome  or  plain  ? 
Maida  could  not  tell — her  mind  would  not  or  could  not 
shake  off  its  awe  and  look  calmly  and  critically. 

Molly  fell  upon  her  knees,  hands  lifted  and  clasped 
before  her.  "  The  Mother-Light ! "  she  sobbed,  and 
Maida,  hearing  a  rustling  and  a  deep  murmur,  glanced 
down — the  audience  was  kneeling;  men  and  women,  all, 
were  bending  forward,  their  hands  clasped,  their  faces 

63 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

inclined  toward  the  apparition,  like  thirsty  flowers  drink- 
ing in  long-denied  rain  or  sun.  And  they  were  mur- 
muring: "The  Mother-Light!  The  Mother-Light! 
Hear  us,  heal  us,  Mother-Light ! " 

With  her  blood  surging,  Maida,  resisting  the  im- 
pulse to  fall  upon  her  knees  beside  Molly,  turned  to  the 
apparition  again.  The  figure  stretched  out  its  arms 
with  proud  dignity.  And  a  clear  voice  came  from  it: 
"  May  The  Light  shine  in  you — ever,  my  children !  " 

Sobs  burst  from  her  "  children."  Tears  flooded 
Maida's  eyes.  When  she  could  see  clearly  again,  the 
curtains  were  falling  together,  were  just  hiding  the 
Mother-Light.  And  the  organ  lifted  its  sea-like  voice 
in  the  first  notes  of  an  anthem. 

The  lights  flashed  on ;  the  audience  rose.  Men  and 
women,  tears  streaming  down  their  faces,  cried  aloud 
for  joy,  embraced  one  another,  gave  way  to  hysterics. 
One  man,  several  women,  had  to  be  taken  from  the  Hall 
by  their  friends.  And  Maida  felt  their  joy,  their  tri- 
umph in  this  vindication  of  their  faith,  swelling  within 
herself;  when  Molly  embraced  her,  she  returned  the 
embrace  almost  as  hysterically. 

"  We  must  go,"  said  Molly  softly.  And  they  were 
in  the  dimness  of  the  passage,  were  making  their  way 
downward,  through  the  tunnel,  up  again,  back  to 
Maida's  apartment.  "  Wasn't  it  wonderful! "  ex- 
claimed Molly,  sinking  upon  a  sofa  exhausted. 

64 


THE     MOTHER -LIGHT 

"  Wonderful !  "  echoed  Maida — she  too  was  in  the 
reaction  from  the  strain.  After  several  minutes  she 
said:  "  Was  that  Ann  Banks?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Molly.  "  But  we  don't  usually 
speak  of  her  by  that  name — here." 

"  Did  she  occupy  this  apartment  ?  " 

"  Never.  No  one  ever  lived  in  it  until  you  came. 
The  house  was  finished  ten  years  ago,  and  I've  been  here 
from  the  first." 

"  I  thought  that — that  she  was — was  old." 

"  She's  older  than  grandfather.  And  he's  eighty- 
six." 

"  Eighty-six !  "  It  was  several  minutes  before  she 
could  put  aside  this  amazing  puzzle.  "  You  wait  on — 
on  her?  "  she  resumed. 

"  Yes — but  until  to-day  I  haven't  seen  her  for  a  year 
and  a  half.  Then  I  only  saw  her  make  an  apparition. 
Since  about  five  years  ago,  when  that  insane  preacher 
tried  to  assassinate  her,  she  sees  only  grandfather  and, 
once  in  a  while,  Mr.  Hinkley." 

"  Then  you've  never  seen  her  close  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ! — often.  When  I  was  nineteen  I  heard 
her  deliver  a  speech.  But  as  the  faith  became  estab- 
lished, she  shut  herself  in  more  and  more." 

"  And  she  lives,  shut  in — alone  ?  "  Maida  asked 
slowly,  abstractedly. 

"  Yes — and  will  forever  and  ever.  Her  mind  goes 
65 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

where  it  wills — to  the  remotest  part  of  the  earth.  She 
visits  every  one  of  her  followers  and  comforts  and 
strengthens  them.  Sometimes — once  when  I  was  away 
off  at  St.  Petersburg — I  did  not  feel  very  well — some 
sinful  thought  must  have  been  poisoning  me.  And  all 
of  a  sudden  I  had  such  peace  and  joy,  and  the  health 
began  to  bound  through  me  so  that  I  felt — oh,  like  a 
baby  that  jumps  about  in  its  crib  and  crows  and  laughs 
just  because  it's  bursting  with  life  and  health.  And  I 
knew  I  was  having  a  visit  from  The  Mother-Light." 
And  Molly  closed  her  eyes,  lowered  and  raised  her  head 
and  murmured — Maida  heard  the  words  of  the  formula 
for  the  first  time — "  May  The  Light  shine  in  me  ever — 
Amen!" 

"  You — all  of  you — worship  her?  "  Maida  went  on, 
when  she  thought  there  had  been  a  sufficient  pause  after 
the  ceremony. 

"  No — no  indeed !  "  Molly  protested,  so  vehemently 
that  Maida  knew  she  had  touched  the  sensitive  spot  in 
the  follower  of  The  Light.  "  We  worship  The  Great 
All.  The  Light  streams  from  Him  and  is  the  soul  of 
the  universe.  We  adore  it  as  one  of  His  attributes." 

"  And  the  Mother-Light?  " 

"  She,"  replied  Molly,  "  is  the  visible  expression  of 
The  Light.  And  we  reverence  her.  But  not  worship" 


66 


VI 


EARLY  in  the  morning  Molly  took  Maida,  by  the 
passage  to  the  right  of  the  fireplace,  to  her  grand- 
father's office,  in  the  second  story  of  the  main  part  of 
the  Temple  of  Temples,  and  left  her  at  the  door. 

The  workroom  of  the  First  Apostle  of  the  Church 
of  The  Light  was  small,  rather  low,  and  was  paneled 
and  ceilinged  with  black  walnut,  the  decorations,  dra- 
peries and  upholsteries  crimson  and  gold.  But  Maida 
saw  all  this  indistinctly,  as  a  trivial  incident  to  Mr. 
Casewell  himself.  When  he  was  within  view,  she — and 
she  soon  found  that  he  had  the  same  effect  upon  every- 
one— could  give  attention  only  to  him.  He  had  that 
unusual,  but  not  rare,  power  of  making  his  every  word 
and  action  interesting,  of  unconsciously  rousing  in 
others  the  feeling  that  he  was  a  personage  of  the  great- 
est consequence.  Just  now  he  was  beaming  benevolently 
at  her  from  his  seat  behind  a  huge  black  walnut  table, 
heaped  high  with  books  and  papers  that  had  toppled 
here  and  there  and  lay  in  arrested  avalanches  of  dis- 
order. His  chair  rose  out  of  masses  of  books,  pam- 
phlets, newspapers,  crumpled  letters,  torn  envelopes. 

Obviously  he  had  been  at  work  many  hours,  yet  he 
67 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

looked  fresh  and  vigorous — like  an  unchangeable  im- 
mortality, who  had  never  been  any  younger  and  would 
never  be  any  older.  As  he  came  from  behind  his  desk, 
she  saw  that  his  almost  misshapenly  powerful  figure  was 
in  baggy  blue-black  velvet  blouse  and  trousers,  gathered 
at  the  wrists  and  ankles  and  at  the  waist  with  cords  of 
dark  blue  silk.  The  somber  sheen  of  his  garments  made 
his  rosy  cheeks  look  rosier  than  ever,  his  white  beard 
whiter  and  bushier — a  magnetic  and  even  startling  pres- 
ence that  had  its  climax  in  those  bright,  laughing,  keen- 
blue  eyes  and  that  nose  of  mighty  curve  and  thrust. 

"  And  you  are — better  ?  "  he  inquired,  looking  her 
full  in  the  face  with  gentle  solicitude.  "  The  night  you 
came — I  could  only  think  of  some  beautiful  bird  that 
had  been  tossed  and  harried  by  the  tempest  until  it  was 
quite  downcast.  And,  as  I  saw  you  then,  gradually 
relaxing  toward  a  slumber  I  knew  would  be  profound 
and  refreshing — "  he  touched  her,  and  she  had  had  no 
such  feeling  since  last  her  mother's  arms  were  about 
her — "  I  thanked  God  the  bird  had  found  a  safe  haven 
and  a  home,  had  found  its  nest  at  last.  A  long,  a  weary, 
a  devious  search,  but  at  last  its  nest !  " 

There  were  tears  in  his  eyes,  tears  in  Maida's  eyes 
also,  for  his  tone  and  his  strange  words  moved  her  pro- 
foundly. He  led  her  to  a  chair  beside  his  table,  then 
himself  took  the  plain,  hard,  wooden  chair  in  which  he 
always  sat  when  at  work.  "  Molly  calls  it  my  peniten- 

68 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

tial  seat,"  he  explained  humorously,  to  help  himself  and 
her  to  recover  self-control.  "  But  that  is  not  quite  ac- 
curate. As  child,  boy,  and  man,  I  had  the  hard  side  of 
life,  and  so  I  got  well  grounded  in  the  habit  of  prefer- 
ring the  hard  to  the  easy  and  soft.  It's  all  a  matter  of 
habit — what  is  not?  But,  we  must  discuss  and  settle 
our  little  business."  He  leaned  toward  her  and  smiled. 
"  Now — don't  look  so  serious — don't  put  your  nerves  on 
a  tension,  my  child." 

She  smiled  back  at  him.  "  I'm  very  foolish,"  she 
said,  apologetically.  "  The  least  thing  out  of  the  or- 
dinary sets  my  nerves  off.  But  usually  I'm  able  to  con- 
ceal it — people  have  often  congratulated  me  on  having 
no  nerves." 

"  Most  people  are  so  busy  with  themselves  that  they 
lose  the  power  of  observation,"  he  replied.  "  My  pro- 
fession— and  my  temperament,  too — have  trained  me 
to  see  at  least  what  goes  on  before  my  eyes.  And  I  saw 
at  a  glance  that  you  suffer  a  great  deal  from  nerves." 

"  It's  been  a  source  of  pain  to  me  all  my  life,"  she 
answered,  "  though  I  don't  think  I  ever  confessed  it 
before." 

"  But  a  source  of  great  pleasure,  too,"  he  suggested. 

"  Oh,  yes !  I've  never  met  anyone  who  seemed  to  feel 
music  and  sunlight,  and  all  the  things  that  reach  one 
through  the  senses,  as  I  do — especially  light.  And  some 
colors  make  me  want  to  laugh,  while  others  go  through 

69 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

me  like  a  spasm  of  pain.  I've  been  made  ill  by  harsh 
noises  and  harsh  contrasts  in  color."  She  blushed  and 
checked  herself.  "  That  sounds  like  affectation,  doesn't 
it?  "  she  said,  shyly. 

"  Not  to  me,"  he  assured  her.  "  I  understand. 
The  intoxication  some  people  have  to  get  artificially  is 
yours — ours,  I  may  say — naturally.  We  are  exhila- 
rated— or  depressed — all  the  time.  I'm  afraid  it  has 
been  of  late  depression  with  you."  His  eyes  twinkled 
suddenly — for,  like  all  whose  methods  are  simple  and 
whose  feelings  are  sincere,  he  had  no  pose  which  would 
be  damaged  by  showing  the  swift  shifts  of  the  mind 
from  grave  to  gay  or  from  gay  to  grave.  "  We  know 
your  history  pretty  thoroughly — you  don't  mind  our 
having  made  a  study  of  your  life?  I'm  sure  you  don't, 
as  we  can  only  have  found  out  things  to  your  credit. 
Let  me  see — correct  me,  if  I  go  wrong."  And,  without 
referring  to  any  notes,  with  only  an  instant's  pause  as 
if  to  open  the  proper  compartment  in  his  memory,  he 
began :  "  You  were  born  in  Iowa  at  Ida  Grove,  twenty- 
eight  years  and  ten  months  ago.  You  are  the  only 
child  of  parents  who  are  both  gone.  You  were  edu- 
cated at  the  public  schools  and  at  the  Academy  in  Ida 
Grove,  and  went  for  a  time  to  the  Iowa  State  University. 
You — and  your  husband — came  to  New  York  eleven 
years  and  two  months  ago.  You  have  been  a  widow 
two  years  and  five  months." 

70 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

Maida  bowed  in  assent  as  he  glanced  at  her  for  con- 
firmation of  his  recital. 

"  You  have  no  near  relations  ?  " 

"  Father  and  mother  were  both  only  children.  My 
grandparents  are  also  gone." 

"  That  agrees  with  my  information,"  said  Mr.  Case- 
well,  and  his  manner  suggested  a  lively  satisfaction. 
"  And  your  husband — he  was  as  peculiarly  alone  as  you, 
was  he  not?  " 

"  All  his  family  were  drowned  in  a  Mississippi  flood." 

"  He,  I  believe,"  continued  the  First  Apostle, 
"  floated  down  the  flood  in  his  crib  and  was  rescued  by 
the  Williston  family  of  Davenport.  They  brought  him 
up,  taking  him,  as  a  boy,  to  live  at  Ida  Grove." 

"  Yes,"  said  Maida.     "  And  now — I  am  alone." 

They  sat  silent,  thinking,  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
went  on  in  a  voice  which  was  tuned  to  the  key  of  her 
nerves :  "  I  think — if  you  will  look  back  upon  your  life 
— upon  all  its  sorrows,  bereavements,  trials — will  look 
at  it  aright,  you  will  see  the  plan  of  a  higher  power  in 
it,  working  steadily  to  one  purpose — to  fit  you  in  every 
way  for  some  mission  which  it  purposes  to  fulfil  through 
you.  Have  you  never  felt  this?  " 

The  expression  of  her  face,  a  shining  forth  of  the 
exaltation  which  had  been  inexplicably  rising  within 
her  as  he  spoke,  made  him  watch  her  with  awe.  She  was 
too  absorbed  to  note  him;  nor  was  there  any  intention 

71 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

on  his  part  that  she  should  see.  In  fact,  as  soon  as  her 
dreamy  eyes  turned  toward  him,  he  swiftly  hid  his 
feelings,  and  she  saw  only  earnest  kindness.  "  Yes," 
she  said.  "  I  have  felt — I  do  feel — I  can't  describe  it, 
it  is  too  vague.  And — "  she  hesitated,  and  colored — 
"  I  must,  to  be  honest,  tell  you  that  I  distrust  it." 

"  Your  reason  warns  you  against  it?  "  he  inquired. 

"  That  is  it.  Reason  tells  me  that  such  intuitions 
— reason  warns  me  to  be  on  my  guard  against  super- 
stition." 

"  But  you  wish  to  believe?  " 

"  It  would  mean  peace,  perhaps  even  happiness,"  she 
replied  earnestly.  "  But — I  fear — I  cannot.  When- 
ever I  think  about  it  calmly,  this  faith  of  yours — 
all  these  new  faiths — seem  like — like  the  mushrooms 
that  spring  up  in  the  dead  tree.  For,  the  old  tree  is 
dead." 

"  Its  trunk  is  dead,"  he  said.  "  One  of  the  stran- 
gest facts  of  our  time  is  the  indifference,  the  apparent 
unconsciousness,  of  the  leading  classes  throughout  the 
world,  that  the  great  trunk  and  the  far-spreading,  all- 
protecting  branches,  which  have  sheltered  civilization 
for  so  many  centuries,  are  dead.  One  would  think  that 
the  whole  intelligent  world  would  be  mourning.  But 
because  the  trunk  still  stands  and  the  gardeners  are, 
from  habit  and  for  the  wages,  still  working  at  the 
branches,  because  there  is  no  terrific,  crashing  fall,  men 

72 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

fancy  that  the  tree  still  lives  and  will  put  forth  new 
leaves  next  year  or  at  least  soon.  But  it  is  as  dead  as 
the  Olympic  gods  from  whose  tomb  it  sprang." 

Maida  had  often  thought  something  like  this.  But 
when  he,  with  his  manner  of  the  sage  and  the  seer,  put 
it  into  words,  she  shivered. 

"  Trunk  and  branches  are  dead,"  he  went  on.  "  And 
the  color  in  such  leaves  as  cling  is  the  hectic  flush  of  dis- 
solution. But — "  and  now  his  eyes  lit  up  and  his  voice 
was  like  a  triumphant  chant — "  The  root  still  lives ! 
Again  and  again,  all  has  died  except  the  root — and, 
therefore,  nothing  of  consequence  has  died.  The  root 
lives,  watered  and  kept  immortal  by  the  hidden  wells 
of  eternal  truth  which  no  drought  of  superstition  or  of 
reason  can  dry  up.  And,  before  the  cry  of  bitter  de- 
spair shall  have  gone  forth,  before  morality  shall  have 
died  out  among  men  through  the  death  of  the  old  faith 
upon  which  it  lived,  before  the  law  of  The  Darkness, 
the  black  and  bloody  and  cruel  law  of  the  right  of  might, 
shall  have  been  established,  the  new  sap  will  be  flowing, 
and  once  more  the  branches  will  spread  their  living, 
sheltering  arms!  The  day  dawns,  my  child!  The 
Light  shines ! " 

"  If  I  could  believe !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  You  will — you  do,"  he  replied.  "  Down  under- 
neath all  the  superficialities  of  shallow  education,  there 
is  the  germ  of  the  immortal  truth  within  you.  Think 

73 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

no  more  about  it.  Let  reason  quibble  and  sneer  when- 
ever it  will.  But  just  open  your  heart  to  The  Light, 
and  wait." 

There  was  an  interrupting  knock  at  the  large  door 
to  the  left  of  Maida;  Mr.  Casewell  answered  it,  held  a 
brief  talk  in  an  undertone  with  some  person  she  could 
not  see.  "  I  must  go  now,"  he  said,  returning  to  her. 
As  she  rose,  he  led  her  toward  the  door  of  the  passage. 
"  It  is  just  as  well.  A  week  or  two  of  rest  and  quiet, 
to  let  you  get  accustomed  to  these  surroundings,  will 
do  no  harm.  We  may  regard  it  as  settled  that  you  are 
willing  to  try  the  position?  " 

"  If  you  think  an  unbeliever — "  she  began. 

He  laughed.  "  The  Light  has  commanded  us  to 
take  you.  We  shall  trust  to  it."  Then,  solemnly: 
"  May  The  Light  shine  in  you !  "  And  she  was  alone 
in  the  private  passage,  going  toward  her  own  apart- 
ment. 

It  was  several  days  before  she  saw  him  again.  Hink- 
ley  came  only  to  inquire  how  she  was  and  to  say  now 
and  then  that  Ann  Banks  would  soon  be  ready  to  receive 
her.  But  she  and  Molly  were  together  the  whole  of 
each  day — and  the  days  fled.  Molly  made  not  the 
slightest  effort  to  convert  her,  never  brought  up  the  sub- 
ject of  the  faith  and,  when  it  came  up  naturally,  said 
no  more  than  was  necessary  before  talking  of  some- 
thing else. 

74 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

But  Molly  was  more  than  a  voice  or  even  an  intelli- 
gence. She  was  an  atmosphere. 

She  had  always  been  sheltered,  knew  the  storms  and 
sorrows  of  life  only  by  report,  and  therefore  had  an 
exaggerated  notion  of  their  ferocity  which  made  her 
regard  Maida  with  wonder  and  gave  her  sympathy  a 
touch  of  reverence.  A  stronger  nature  than  Molly's 
there  could  not  be;  but  it  was  the  passive  strength  of 
gentleness  and  sweetness,  not  the  active  strength  which 
Maida's  experience  had  developed  in  her.  Thus,  they 
were  adapted  each  to  influence  the  other;  they  had  the 
necessary  traits  in  common,  the  necessary  traits  in  con- 
trast. 

Upon  Maida's  vexed  soul,  Molly  had  the  effect  of 
April  upon  March — sun  to  soften  the  winds,  rain  to 
make  the  barrenness  blossom.  And  soon  there  was  an 
amazing  physical  response  to  Maida's  internal  change. 
She  herself  hardly  noticed  it — her  beauty  had  been  her 
chief  source  of  humiliation  and  heartache  when  she  first 
began  to  try  to  make  a  living  for  herself  and  her  child ; 
and  she  had  been  even  relieved  when  she  knew  her  beauty 
was  gone  because  the  men  she  asked  for  work  began  to 
treat  her  sexlessly,  and  therefore  far  more  harshly  than 
if  she  had  been  a  man.  She  had  forgotten  that  beauty 
ever  had  been  hers. 

Molly  soon  noticed  the  change — the  rounder  cheeks, 
the  color  of  health  in  the  skin,  the  re-appearance  of  a 

75 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 


figure  of  graceful  curves.  Hinkley  was  the  only  one 
who  could  appreciate  that  this  rapid  transformation  was 
not  a  going  back  to  the  beauty  that  had  been,  but  the 
birth  of  a  wholly  new  loveliness — Maida  the  woman, 
with  experience  illuminating  her  eyes,  with  character 
strengthening  her  features;  a  beauty  that  was  founded 
upon  physical  charm  but  took  its  tone  and  high  indi- 
viduality from  the  thoughts.  And  Maida's  thoughts 
were  now  of  the  kind  that  stimulate  the  imagination, 
and  make  the  nerves  tranquil  without  robbing  them  of 
their  sensitiveness. 

One  morning  Molly  came  to  her  apartment  sooner 
than  usual  and,  after  waiting  impatiently  half  an  hour 
in  the  sitting-room,  softly  adventured  the  closed  bed- 
room door.  There  lay  Maida  in  the  dim  light  that 
sifted  through  the  shutters;  the  room  was  cold  as  the 
outside  air,  and  she  was  in  a  profound  sleep.  As  Molly's 
eyes  focused  to  the  dimness,  she  saw  first  the  great  coiled 
braid  round  the  small  head,  then  the  features  of  her 
face,  but  them  only  in  outline.  Molly  stared,  fascin- 
ated, awed.  Then,  in  a  sort  of  panic,  she  fled  noiselessly 
to  her  own  quarters. 

When  Maida  rang  and  she  re-appeared,  the  change 
in  her  manner  was  so  marked  that  Maida  spoke  of  it. 
*'  Has  something  happened,"  she  said — "  something 
disagreeable  ?  " 

"  Nothing — nothing,"  replied  Molly,  looking  fixedly 
76 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

at  her  and  seeming  to  be  somehow  re-assured.  "  It  was 
only  that  I  had  a  queer — a  sort  of  dream."  And  she 
would  not  talk  about  it.  After  that,  whenever  Maida 
would  rouse  herself  suddenly  from  those  reveries  that 
were  again  her  daily  habit  she  would  find  Molly  at  a 
full  stop  in  reading  or  sewing,  and  looking  at  her  with 
an  expression  that  suggested  dread  or  awe,  Maida  was 
not  quite  sure  which.  Molly  would  instantly  glance 
away,  confused,  and  Maida,  suspecting  that  some  secret 
of  the  faith  was  somehow  involved,  would  pretend  that 
she  had  not  seen. 

She  noticed  a  change  in  Hinkley's  manner  also, 
presently — a  veiled  deference  and  a  struggle  not  to  be 
formal.  And,  when  Mr.  Casewell  at  last  came  to  her  to 
resume  their  talk  about  "  the  little  business  " — she  had 
not  seen  him  in  more  than  ten  days — he,  in  turn,  changed 
his  manner.  It  was  no  longer  the  kindly,  protecting 
friendliness  of  an  old  person  for  one  much  younger; 
it  was  a  friendliness  of  deference,  a  sort  of  courtier 
courtesy. 

"  If  you  wish,"  he  began,  "  I  will  take  you  to — to 
Ann  Banks  to-morrow." 

She  saw  that  he  was  tired.  His  eyes  and  voice  both 
told  of  some  heavy  task  that  had  tried  even  his  strength. 
She  said :  "  Whenever  you  like — and  I've  been  hoping 
it  would  not  be  much  longer." 

"  Her  mind  gave  way  again  the  day  after  the  ap- 
6  77 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

parition,"  he  went  on,  as  if  pursuing  a  subject  that  had 
been  often  and  frankly  discussed  by  them,  when  in  fact 
he  had  never  before  spoken  to  her  of  the  high  priestess, 
or  goddess,  of  the  faith.  "  Not  till  this  morning  were 
there  glimmerings  of  a  re-shining  of  the  soul  through 
the  mist.  As  I  have  said  to  you  " — it  made  a  deep  im- 
pression on  her,  this  melancholy  in  his  voice,  so  foreign 
to  his  whole  nature — "  life  has  not  been  a  rose-strewn 
path  for  me — many  and  sharp  thorns,  and  a  few  roses. 
But  all  else  I  have  borne  seems  a  trifle  beside  the  burden 
of  these  last  years.  Latterly  Hinkley  has  helped  me, 
but  the  burden  itself  has  also  doubled.  Still,  I  have 
marched,  not  staggered,  because  The  Light  has  made  it 
clear  to  me  that  the  way  would  open.  And  it  is  open- 
ing— gloriously !  " 

His  enthusiasm  caught  her  in  its  bright  flame  and 
wrapped  her  round.  "  Do  you  really  think  I  can  help 
you  ?  "  she  asked — and  she  felt  that  she  could  and  would. 

"  The  opening  way  is  you"  he  answered.  "  That 
is  why  I  tell  you  these  things.  You  know  what  my  faith 
is  to  me,  you  know  what  I  feel  it  means  to  the  whole 
world.  Do  you  think  I  would  trust  you  thus,  were  I 
not  sure  of  you  as  only  the  assurance  of  the  Great  All 
could  make  me?  " 

"  You  almost  give  me  belief  in  myself,"  she  said. 

"  Not  I— but  The  Light,"  he  urged.  "  This  is  the 
struggle  of  the  Dawn.  And  after  what  a  night  for  us 

78 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

of  the  inner  altar  of  the  faith!  You  will  appreciate 
soon — when  you  have  felt  the  responsibility.  You  will 
have  that,  and  the  joy  of  it,  without  the  burden.  A 
general,  with  an  army  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
men,  and  a  desperate  battle  impending — he  feels  the 
sense  of  responsibility  for  those  lives,  for  the  safety  of 
their  bodies.  But  we — upon  us  was  the  responsibility 
for  the  souls  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand.  If, 
through  us,  defeat  should  come — oh,  I  knew  it  could 
not  come.  But  I  was  born  in  sin,  and  for  the  inscru- 
table purposes  of  The  Light,  my  faltering  human  heart 
was  left  me.  So,  I  suffered  though  I  knew  the  event 
was  secure." 

"And — she?"  Maida  ventured. 

His  eyes  did  not  change,  but  she  felt,  rather  than 
saw,  that  he  was  stilling  a  tempest  within  himself.  At 
length,  he  answered :  "  She,  too,  was  born  in  sin.  For 
a  long  time  after  she  realized  that  she  had  let  The 
Darkness  retain  insidious  hold  upon  her  until  it  was 
perhaps  too  late,  she  hid  it  from  me,  thinking  it  was 
the  final,  supreme  test  and  must  be  borne  alone.  Then 
— she  told  me,  and  we  prayed  over  it  together.  For 
a  long  time  no  leading  came.  And  just  as  I  was  de- 
spairing— not  she,  for  her  faith  could  not  even  falter 
— but  when  I  was  preparing  to  fight  on  without  hope,  it 
was  revealed  to  us  that  through  you  she  would  be  re- 
stored." 

79 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

"But  what  can  /do?" 

"  You  will  know  when  The  Light  reveals  it  to  you," 
he  answered.  "  And  until  the  way  opens  further,  we 
have  thought  it  best  to  keep  your  presence  here  a  secret. 
You  are  not  a  believer  and  we  could  not  explain  taking 
an  unbeliever  to  be  her  most  intimate  associate.  You 
feel  the  confinement  to  this  apartment  and  my  little 
garden?  I  call  it  mine  because  I  get  my  exercise  by 
attending  to  it ;  but  it  is  yours." 

"  Not  the  confinement,"  said  she.  "  I  have  never 
felt  so  free,  so — so — at  large.  But  the  mystery.  I 
feel  that — at  times." 

"  We  could  not  avoid  it,"  he  explained.  "  There 
are  eleven  servants  in  this  house,  nearly  a  hundred  in 
all  on  the  place.  Then,  in  the  far  wing  of  the  house 
are  a  dozen  assistants  to  Hinkley  and  me.  In  a  build- 
ing just  beyond  are  perhaps  fifty  more  assistants,  under 
Apostle  Floycroft  who  is  in  direct  charge  of  the  prop- 
aganda. Down  at  the  House  of  Pilgrims,  a  mile  from 
here,  but  well  within  the  grounds — you  may  remember, 
your  carriage  stopped  there  the  night  you  came — it  has 
accommodation  for  about  three  hundred.  And  all  the 
rooms  are  usually  taken,  by  visitors,  by  sick  come  to  be 
healed,  by  mission ers,  by  the  theological  students. 
Beyond  the  Hall  of  The  Light  lies  our  general  theo- 
logical seminary,  our  training  college  for  missioners, 
with  the  houses  of  the  faculty,  and  their  families." 

80 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  And  I  thought  this  almost  a  solitude !  "  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"  A  town,  rather.  No,  the  engine-room  of  the 
faith.  We  received  and  answered  here  nearly  half  a 
million  letters  last  year,  to  give  only  one  detail.  And 
in  the  same  period,  from  this  center  The  Light  sent  out 
its  healing  rays  to  the  bodies  and  souls  of  more  than 
three  hundred  thousand — some  stragglers  toward  The 
Light,  others  seated  in  The  Darkness,  but  interceded 
for  by  relatives  and  friends." 

She  was  listening  in  amazement.  At  last  she  was 
realizing  the  size  and  the  weight  of  the  burden  that 
rested  upon  his  shoulders.  "  If  The  Light  were  to  ex- 
pire !  "  she  thought. 

"  As  you  may  have  noted,  that  day  in  the  Hall,"  he 
went  on,  "  while  The  Light  shines  for  all,  it  appeals  most 
potently  to  the  educated  and  the  thoughtful — those  in 
direst  need  of  faith  now,  the  leading  classes  whom  sci- 
ence has  cut  adrift  on  the  dreadful  sea  of  unbelief  with- 
out sun  or  even  star." 

"  I  know  that  sea,"  she  said.  And  from  her  heart 
welled  a  thanksgiving  that,  if  she  could  still  see  those 
forlorn  and  lightless  wastes,  could  still  hear  the  moan- 
ing of  those  dreary  waves,  it  was  at  least  from  the  shore 
— the  shore  of  what  seemed  a  land  of  rest  and  peace. 

That  night  she  did  not  sleep  soundly.  Whenever 
she  lost  consciousness,  her  mind  would  wander  away  into 

81 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

fantastic  dreams  that  now  awakened  her  in  a  sort  of 
rapture,  again  in  a  terror  so  profound  that  she  would 
hastily  reach  out  and  turn  on  the  night-light.  Once, 
as  she  started  to  a  sitting  posture  in  alarm,  she  thought 
she  saw  the  dressing-room  door  close.  She  listened,  but 
the  silence  was  unbroken — an  utter  silence,  not  even  the 
ticking  of  a  clock  or  the  faint  sounds  that  almost  always 
rasp  upon  the  quiet  of  a  sleeping  house.  As  soon  as 
she  could  reason  herself  into  courage,  she  rose  and  tried 
the  dressing-room  door — she  could  lock  it ;  it  had  there- 
fore been  unlocked;  then,  the  movement  she  thought 
she  saw  might  not  have  been  imagined — was  not  im- 
agined! 

She  darted  to  her  bed,  gathered  its  covers  and  her 
dressing-gown  and  fled  into  the  sitting-room,  securing 
the  bedroom  door  behind  her.  She  turned  on  all  the 
lights,  revived  the  fire;  and  with  its  warm  companion- 
ship to  reassure  her,  she  stretched  herself  in  comfort. 
One  dream  she  had  that  was  repeated  four  times  with 
little  variation : 

She  was  in  the  midst  of  a  multitude  so  vast  that  it 
filled  the  whole  of  her  vast  dream-horizon,  made  her  feel 
that  she  would  still  be  in  the  midst  of  it  no  matter  how 
far  she  might  go  in  any  direction.  All  were  kneeling 
with  eyes  upon  the  barren  plain;  and  in  a  chant  that 
filled  her  heart  with  grief  they  were  sending  up  wailing 
repetition  of  the  one  word  "  Death !  Death !  Death !  " 

82 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

And  she  knew  that  here  was  the  whole  human  race 
abandoned  to  despair  because  it  had  become  convinced 
that  death  was  eternal  and  therefore  Life  a  brief  futil- 
ity, unutterably  accursed.  And  then  she  saw  that  there 
was  a  center  to  this  innumerable  company  of  mourners 
— a  mighty  tree,  a  wreck,  a  ruin  of  a  mighty  tree,  a 
skeleton  hideous  to  look  upon,  for  the  great  scrawny 
branches  were  bare  and  black.  And  as  the  horror  of 
that  tree  beat  upon  her  brain  through  her  eyes  and  the 
horror  of  that  monotonous  moan  beat  upon  her  brain 
through  her  ears,  she,  too,  was  crushed  down  to  kneel 
and  to  join  in  that  rhythmic  cry  of  despair.  Then 
there  appeared  at  the  horizon's  edge  a  figure  in  a  long 
black  robe  and  bearing  a  staff.  It  strode  swiftly  toward 
where  she  was  kneeling.  It  was  Mr.  Casewell,  but  giant- 
tall.  He  advanced  to  the  tree;  he  struck  it  with  his 
staff — and  instantly  a  cloud  of  flame  descended  and  en- 
veloped the  dead  skeleton  and  hid  it  and  consumed  it. 
And  the  multitude  lifted  their  faces  and  stretched  their 
arms  toward  the  flame ;  and  the  air  which  had  been  infi- 
nitely cold  and  infinitely  sad  became  warm  and  glad. 
And  the  swirling  billows  of  the  tower  of  flame  curled 
into  the  form  of  a  colossal  figure,  a  woman  of  pure  fire 
clad  in  garments  of  pure  fire,  now  blazing,  now  gently 
glowing.  And  there  arose  a  shout  that  echoed  from 
every  corner  of  the  universe — "  The  Light !  The 
Mother-Light!  "  And  she,  too,  cried  out  for  joy,  and 

83 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

awakened  gradually;  and  the  colossal  figure  faded  and 
dwindled  gradually  until  it  was  the  fire-light  stream- 
ing placidly  upon  her  face. 

When  Mr.  Casewell  came  to  take  her  to  Ann  Banks, 
he  noticed  at  once  that  she  was  a  little  different,  that 
her  mind  had  hung  a  veil  between  them.  "  What  is  it?  " 
he  asked,  instantly  and  frankly.  "  What  is  troubling 
you?" 

"  Dreams,"  she  answered,  "  and  foolish  fancies. 
You  gave  me  too  much  to  think  about  yesterday.  I 
didn't  sleep  well." 

"  Perhaps  you'd  rather  not  go  to-day  ?  "  he  sug- 
gested. 

"  No — oh,  no — "  was  the  quick  protest  of  her  grati- 
tude for  his  minute  thoughtfulness — never  before  had 
anyone  tried  to  understand  her,  and  she  had  been  so 
long  without  sympathy  or  even  kindness.  "  I'm  ready. 
I'm  eager." 

"  I  thank  you,"  he  said.  Then :  "  We  will  go  by 
the  passageway  here."  And  he  advanced  to  the  wall 
and  opened  the  panel  to  the  left  of  the  fireplace.  She 
started  back ;  he  had  disclosed  a  passage  exactly  like  the 
one  to  the  right. 

"  This  little  hall,"  he  went  on,  "  leads  directly  to 
her  apartment.  There  is  another  branch  of  it,  into  your 
dressing-room." 

84 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

She  was  pale  as  her  white  waist.  "  Show  me,"  she 
succeeded  in  articulating. 

He  led  the  way  to  her  dressing-room.  She  unlocked 
its  door  and  stood  aside.  He  entered,  but  just  beyond 
the  threshold  wheeled  and  faced  her.  Over  his  shoulder 
she  saw  what  he  had  seen — the  panel  in  the  rear  wall 
ajar.  "  I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  in 
answer  to  his  look.  "  I  awoke  from  a  sound  sleep.  I 
felt  as  if  someone  were  in  my  room.  I  thought  I  saw 
the  dressing-room  door  close." 

He  examined  the  bolt  of  the  blind  door.  "  It  was 
not  bolted,"  he  said.  And  he  closed  the  panel  and  drew 
the  bolt.  "  Now — you  won't  be  disturbed  again." 

"  I  think,"  said  she,  "  I'd  prefer  not  to  go  to — to 
her  until  to-morrow." 

"  No,  it  is  better  to-day,"  he  urged.  "  Then  you 
will  understand,  and  your  alarm  will  vanish." 

"  Let  me  think,"  she  replied,  and  they  returned  to 
her  sitting-room  where  she  seated  herself,  her  gaze  upon 
the  fire-light.  After  perhaps  five  minutes  she  stood. 
"  Yes,  let  us  go,  now,"  she  said. 


85 


VII 


THE  passage  was  like  that  through  which  Molly 
had  taken  her  to  the  apparition.  They  ascended  a  short 
flight  of  steps  and,  Mr.  Casewell  pushing  open  a  blind 
door,  they  were  in  an  almost  unfurnished  and  obviously 
unused  dressing-room.  Through  this,  through  a  hall, 
and  they  were  in  a  large  salon  suff used  with  a  soft,  dim, 
rose-colored  light — just  such  a  glow  as  had  irradiated 
at  the  "  apparition,"  just  such  a  glow  as  had  permeated 
from  the  fire  figure  in  her  dream.  The  walls  were  cov- 
ered with  silk  brocaded  in  crimson  and  gold,  and  the 
solid  furniture  also ;  and  on  the  floor  was  a  carpet  whose 
crimson  surface  was  strewn  with  dull  gold  sunbursts. 

She  saw,  on  a  canopied  sofa  at  the  far  end  of  the 
room,  the  Mother-Light. 

Her  first  impression  was  of  youth — high  color,  daz- 
zling teeth  shown  in  a  gracious,  cordial  smile,  abundant 
hair  up-piled  in  puffs  in  front  and  at  the  sides  of  the 
small  head,  a  robe  of  soft  black  material  embroidered 
with  small  gold  sunbursts.  It  was  high  in  the  neck,  but 
the  sleeves  flowed  away  from  forearms  round  and  white 
and  tapering  to  narrow,  long,  youthful  hands.  The 
features — strength  and  dignity,  and  youth. 

86 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

Such  was  her  first  impression,  got  at  a  glance  before 
the  Mother-Light  spoke.  Maida  was  surprised  by  the 
lack  of  ceremony.  Mr.  Casewell  had  simply  bowed  and 
was  standing  with  head  respectfully  bent,  waiting  for 
the  Mother-Light  to  address  him.  She  now  extended 
her  hand  to  Maida.  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear," 
she  said — and  the  voice  did  not  sound  like  that  of  an 
old  woman.  As  Maida  advanced  to  take  the  offered 
hand,  the  Mother-Light  slowly  leaned  back.  And  the 
shadow  of  the  canopy  was  so  heavy  that  the  features 
which  had  been  dim  were  now  a  mere  outline,  like  a  face 
seen  in  the  shadow  of  moonlight — seen,  yet  not  seen. 
"  This  is  my  second  look  at  you,"  the  Mother-Light 
went  on,  amusement  in  her  voice.  "  My  curiosity  was 
so  great  that  last  night  I  ventured  down  into  your 
apartment.  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me?  " 

"  Then  it  was  you !  "  said  Maida,  completely  reas- 
sured by  this  voluntary  confession.  The  Mother- 
Light's  manner,  the  graciousness  of  a  dignity  conscious 
that  nothing  can  impair  it,  seemed  to  be  putting  her  at 
her  ease. 

"  Did  you  know?  "  was  the  Mother-Light's  reply,  in 
a  regretful  tone.  "  How  you  must  have  been  startled. 
And  when  I  was  looking  at  you,  I  thought  you  were 
having  a  troubled  dream."  She  was  still  holding 
Maida's  hand  and  Maida,  responding  to  the  slight  pres- 
sure, half-knelt,  half-sat  beside  her.  "  But  those  dreams 

87 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

will  soon  pass  away,"  she  was  saying,  "  and  your  nights 
will  be  as  peaceful  and  happy  as  your  days.  The 
Light  is  shining  in  you."  A  long  silence,  then  a  repe- 
tition in  the  voice  of  one  half  asleep — "  The  Light  is 
shining  in  you." 

Maida  waited  with  increasing  nervousness.  Pres- 
ently she  looked  round  at  Mr.  Casewell.  He  was  still 
standing  with  head  respectfully  bent.  She  gently  tried 
to  disengage  her  hand.  The  effort  seemed  to  rouse  the 
Mother-Light  from  sleep  or  reverie  or  whatever  it  was 
that  had  made  her  head  fall  forward  upon  her  bosom. 
"  Yes,"  she  went  on — and  now  her  voice  was  no  longer 
young,  and  had  a  quaver  in  it,  the  quaver  of  great  age. 
"  Yes — you  are  young  and  beautiful — just  as  I  was  in 
my  girlhood.  I  say  girlhood,  though  really  I'm  neither 
old  nor  young — yet  I  can  remember  the  big  meteor 
shower — it  was  in  1833,  wasn't  it,  Albert?  I  ran  out 
when  I  saw  the  fire-drops  coming  down — so  soft — so 
soft.  And  I  held  out  my  apron  to  try  to  catch  them. 
But  my  mother  came  and  dragged  me  into  the  house." 

The  voice  ceased.  The  head  fell  forward  upon  the 
bosom,  the  grasp  upon  Maida's  fingers  relaxed ;  and  the 
regular,  deeper  breathing  told  that  the  Mother-Light 
was  asleep.  When  she  could  endure  the  silence  and  the 
motionlessness  no  longer,  Maida  rose  and  began  a  slow 
retreat.  But  at  the  fourth  step  the  Mother-Light 
started  and  Maida  saw  her  eyes  shining  upon  her  from 

88 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

the  dimness.  Maida  tried  to  look  away  but  could  not; 
there  was  a  command  in  those  eyes  which  she  was  unable 
to  oppose.  The  Mother-Light  stretched  out  her  arm. 
"  May  The  Light  shine  in  you !  "  she  said  in  a  voice  that 
vibrated  like  musical  notes.  "  Albert  will  bring  you 
again  to-morrow." 

Maida  felt  a  pressure  on  her  arm,  felt  rather  than 
saw  the  Mother-Light  and  the  mysterious,  beautiful 
salon  fading  slowly.  They  had  withdrawn  by  the  main 
door  to  the  right — into  Mr.  Casewell's  workroom  which 
she  now  saw  was  the  ante-room  to  the  Mother-Light's 
salon.  "  You  wish  to  return  to  your  own  apartment?  " 
he  said. 

She  could  not  find  words  or  voice  to  answer  but, 
silent,  left  by  the  door  of  the  passage  which  he,  silent, 
opened  for  her.  In  her  reception  room,  she  looked  at 
herself  in  the  glass.  Her  skin  was  gray,  and  there  were 
black  circles  under  her  eyes;  and  a  nervous  headache 
was  making  her  brain  throb  and  ache.  Yet  until  now 
she  had  been  conscious  of  no  strain.  "  What  is  the  mat- 
ter with  me  ?  "  she  muttered.  "  Where  is  my  common 
sense?  "  And  she  reviewed  in  detail  all  that  had  oc- 
curred during  that  brief  interview.  No  incident  of  it, 
nor  all  incidents  together,  nothing  that  her  eyes  and 
ears  and  other  bodily  senses  had  reported  to  her  brain 
adequately  explained  this  feeling  that  some  mighty 
force  was  slowly  subsiding  within  her  after  having 

89 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

turned  and  overturned  the  very  foundations  of  her  be- 
ing into  a  chaos. 

She  dropped  upon  a  sofa  and  almost  instantly  fell 
into  a  sound  sleep.  She  awakened  with  a  start  and  rose 
and  stood  at  the  mirror  opposite  the  fireplace.  She 
studied  her  image  feature  by  feature,  flushed  with  a 
fever  that  was  like  flaming  fingers  alternately  laid 
lightly  upon  her  and  lifted  and  laid  lightly  upon  her 
again.  At  last  she  was  looking  straight  into  her  own 
eyes,  fascinated,  awed.  For,  from  them,  over  the  shoul- 
der of  the  personality  gazing  back  at  her,  the  personal- 
ity she  recognized  as  her  own,  there  gazed  another 
personality.  "  Who  are  you  ?  "  she  demanded  of  it. 
"  And  why  are  you  there?  And  whence  did  you  come?  " 

There  was  no  answer.  The  new  personality  simply 
held  to  that  steady  gaze  at  her  from  her  own  eyes  and 
over  the  shoulder  of  her  own  personality  imaged  in 
them. 

Mr.  Casewell  could  not  take  her  the  next  day ;  he  sent 
Hinkley  in  with  her.  The  Mother-Light  was  again  on 
her  canopied  sofa-throne;  her  head  was  fallen  forward 
and  she  was  breathing  deeply.  "  Sit  here  until  she 
wakes,"  said  Hinkley  in  an  undertone,  indicating  a  chair 
a  few  feet  from  the  sofa.  And  he  returned  to  the  ante- 
room, closing  its  doors  behind  him.  Maida  took  up  a 
book  on  the  small  table  at  her  elbow.  It  was  "  Rays 

90 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

from  the  Beam,"  by  Ann  Banks,  beautifully  bound — 
evidently  the  author's  copy.  She  read,  forgetting  what 
she  had  read  as  fast  as  her  eyes  passed  on.  After  per- 
haps a  quarter  of  an  hour,  she  stirred  uncomfortably 
and  glanced  up.  She  was  so  startled  that  the  book 
dropped  from  her  hand  into  her  lap.  The  Mother- 
Light  had  awakened,  was  watching  her  with  keen, 
amused  eyes.  Just  the  eyes;  the  face  was  merely  sug- 
gested in  the  gloaming-like  shadow  of  the  canopy. 
"  Have  you  been  waiting  long,  child  ?  "  she  now  asked, 
and  Maida  liked  the  voice. 

"  I — think  not,"  was  her  confused  answer.  "  I  was 
— reading." 

"  You  are  fond  of  reading?  " 

"  Fonder  than  of  anything  else — "  Maida  smiled 
— "  except  dreaming." 

The  eyes  seemed  to  dance,  and  Maida  thought  she 
could  see  a  smile  on  the  features.  "  Those  were  my 
passions,  too,"  said  the  Mother-Light.  "  As  a  child,  I 
used  to  have  visions,  used  to  hear  voices.  They  tried 

to  cure  me,  but  they  only  succeeded  in  postponing  the 

( 
revelation.     I   was    nearly    forty    years   old,    and   had 

buried  my  parents,  my  husband,  my  two  children,  before 
The  Light  shone  clear  to  me  and  I  ceased  to  resist.  You 
do  not  believe — as  yet?  " 

"  I — don't  know  what  I  believe,"  said  Maida.     "  I 

think " 

91 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  Think !  "  exclaimed  the  Mother-Light,  her  tone 
satire  without  offense.  "  Don't  try  to  think,  child. 
That  is  whence  all  the  sorrow  comes.  Trust  to  feeling 
— to  instinct.  Open  the  doors — The  Light  will  pour 
in.  We  never  argue — we  have  no  creed.  We  simply 
submit  ourselves,  and  call  others  to  submit,  to  those  uni- 
versal instincts  that  the  universe  has  a  soul,  is  a  soul, 
and  that  each  of  us  is  part  of  it.  No  creed,  no  logic, 
none  of  the  devices  of  The  Darkness,  nothing  for  Sci- 
ence to  attack.  Just  a  mode  of  living,  just  put- 
ting ourselves  in  harmony  with  the  eternal  and  the 
immortal." 

Obeying  a  gesture,  Maida  came  and  knelt  beside 
her;  and  from  the  dimness  of  the  canopy  the  Mother- 
Light  extended  her  strong,  beautiful  white  hands, 
young  yet  somehow  not  young,  and  laid  them  on  her 
head.  "  I  looked  closely  at  you  while  you  slept  yes- 
terday morning,"  she  said.  Then,  after  a  pause,  very 
solemnly :  "  My  other  self.  My  unborn  other  self !  " 

A  thrill  of  awe  surged  through  Maida.  She  felt 
that  some  living  force  was  passing  through  those  hands 
into  her  brain,  into  her  body — was  passing  from  the 
soul  of  the  Mother-Light  into  her  own. 

"  You  have  suffered,"  the  voice  went  on.  "  Your 
heart  has  been  broken,  trampled.  But  it  shall  be  healed, 
and  your  destiny  shall  be  fulfilled."  And  she  kissed 
Maida's  bowed  head.  "  Now,  let  us  begin.  I  feel  clear 

92 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

and  fresh  to-day.  Do  you  think  you  could  take  a  dic- 
tation? " 

Maida  seated  herself  at  the  desk,  a  little  behind  the 
sofa,  took  paper  and  a  pencil.  "  I  can  write  rather 
fast,"  she  said,  hardly  knowing  what  she  was  saying. 
For,  in  her  brain  was  ringing  "  Your  Destiny ! "  and 
before  her  eyes  the  woven  sunbursts  of  the  carpet,  the 
embroidered  sunbursts  of  the  walls  were  whirling. 

She  could  not  see  the  Mother-Light  from  where  she 
sat.  Presently  the  voice  began — "  My  children — " 
then  lapsed  into  silence.  A  few  minutes,  then :  "  But 
first,  child,  perhaps  I'd  better  explain  that  I  am  going 
to  dictate  to  you  a  general  letter — an  encyclical — to 
our  followers  in  all  countries.  There  have  grown  up  of 
late  many  false  versions  of  the  faith.  Sinful  and  mer- 
cenary persons,  seeing  the  eagerness  with  which  The 
Light  has  been  received,  have  stolen  my  revelation,  my 
ideas,  and  are  trafficking  in  them."  She  had  begun  in 
calmness ;  but  her  voice,  mounting  through  agitation  to 
excitement,  was  now  high  and  tremulous  with  anger. 

"  7  am  the  sole  prophet  of  The  Light,"  she  cried. 
"  The  revelation  was  to  me  alone.  If  anyone  tells  you 
that  Albert — Mr.  Casewell — originated  it  or  wrote  my 
books  or  my  sermons,  it's  false,  false,  a  lie !  "  And  now 
the  voice  dropped  to  a  senile  quaver.  "  My  husband 
was  a  physician,  and  in  those  days  there  weren't  any 
drug  stores,  and  we  used  to  make  his  medicines.  *  I  put 
7  93 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 


in  the  drugs,  Annie,  and  you  put  in  the  faith,  and  the 
faith's  the  thing,  Annie,'  he  used  to  say — and  he  was 
right.  Faith — that's  the  thing !  Faith!  «  Faith  with- 
out works  is  dead ' — that's  true.  But  what  of  works 
without  faith?  Look  at  this  godless  and  hypocritical 
generation — look  at  its  works  without  faith.  Faith's 
the  thing !  Faith !  " 

Silence,  and  Maida  sat  thinking  of  the  impending 
disaster;  of  Molly  and  Hinkley  and  Mr.  Casewell,  of 
the  tens  of  thousands  to  whom  this  faith  was  life.  This 
faith,  wholly  dependent  upon  this  dying  woman,  once 
so  strong  and  potent,  now  a  mere  echo  of  intelligence, 
and  dying — dying! 

"  Yes — I  am  a  broken  woman — and  dying,"  came 
in  the  Mother-Light's  voice,  like  an  answer  to  her 
thoughts.  "  Come  to  me,  child."  Maida  went  and 
knelt  again  with  bowed  head,  felt  hot  tears  on  her  face. 
"  Not  for  myself,  child,"  the  Mother-Light  said,  "  but 
for  the  cause.  I  know  The  Light  will  shine  on.  It  is 
the  true  faith.  But — oh,  the  agony  of  this  time  of 
trial,  of  transition!  My  daughter,  my  unborn  daugh- 
ter of  The  Light.  Do  you  not  feel  in  your  own  soul 
the  stirring  of  a  soul  that  is  about  to  be  born?  " 

"  Yes — yes,"  said  Maida  in  a  low  voice.  "  Oh — 
mother — I  am  afraid !  " 

When  she  lifted  her  head,  the  rosy  light  of  that  mys- 
terious presence  seemed  as  unreal  as  her  life  in  this 

94 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

unearthly  place,  as  unreal  as  the  light  upon  those  lands 
of  dreams  in  which  she  so  often  wandered,  uncertain 
what  was  fancy  and  what  reality.  "  Go  now,  my 
daughter,"  said  the  Mother-Light.  "  And  send  Mr. 
Hinkley  to  me.  May  The  Light  shine  in  you — ever !  " 
In  a  dream,  Maida  passed  to  the  ante-room,  said, 
"  She  wishes  you,"  to  Hinkley,  went  on  through  the 
passage  to  her  own  apartments. 


95 


vm 

SHE  always  saw  the  Mother-Light  in  that  same 
salon,  and  nowhere  else,  and  in  that  same  unrevealing 
dimness.  At  first,  whenever  Mr.  Casewell  interrupted 
them  with  the  affairs  of  the  Church,  she  immediately 
left.  But  this  was  soon  a  form  to  which  she  herself 
held  because  she  wished  to  avoid  even  seeming  to  take 
advantage  of  their  frank,  most  affectionate  friendliness. 
One  morning,  perhaps  a  fortnight  after  her  first  visit 
to  the  salon  of  the  rose  light,  as  she  was  departing 
before  Mr.  Casewell,  he  suggested  to  the  Mother-Light : 
"  Don't  you  think  she  had  better  stay  ?  Can't  she 
help  us  through  these  matters  ? "  And  the  Mother- 
Light,  with  a  shade  of  constraint  in  her  cordiality,  said 
to  her :  "  Yes — please  do,  child — please  stay." 

When  Maida,  sensitive  to  the  change  in  her  manner, 
tried  to  stammer  a  hastily  invented  excuse  for  going, 
the  Mother-Light  insisted — "  Please,  my  child.  I  wish 
you  to  know  all  of  our  affairs.  There  will  be  times  when 
I  shall  have  you  represent  me  at  the  Council,  and  how 
can  you  if  you  do  not  know  everything  about  the 
Church?  " 

96 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

So  she  stayed.  And  thereafter  she  was  always  at 
the  morning  consultation,  even  when  the  Mother-Light 
kept  to  the  inner  rooms.  Presently  Mr.  Casewell 
drifted  into  the  habit  of  going  to  her  in  her  free  hours 
and  walking  the  garden  with  her,  talking  the  ever  upper- 
most subject  in  the  Temple  of  Temples — the  Church 
of  The  Light.  And  a  most  absorbing  subject  it  became 
to  her  as  she  realized  the  amazing  facts  of  its  extent 
and  growth — seventy  churches  in  as  many  large  com- 
munities, each  church  a  power  with  the  leading  element 
in  its  community ;  more  than  a  hundred  thousand  active 
members,  and  the  membership  increasing  swiftly  in  face 
of  the  jeers  of  the  press,  the  scoffings  of  the  agnostics, 
and  the  denunciations  of  the  pulpit. 

Every  morning  Hinkley  brought  up  from  the  offices 
of  the  Church  a  big  bundle  of  press  clippings  on  The 
Light.  These  were  laid  upon  Mr.  Casewell's  desk,  and 
she — at  his  request — made  it  a  rule  to  look  them 
through.  For  a  while  the  attacks — many  of  them  clever, 
some  of  them  wise — produced  strong  reactions  in  her 
toward  her  original  opinions.  But  after  she  had 
become  acclimated  to  and  saturated  with  the  atmosphere 
of  unquestioning,  militant  faith,  and  had  come  to  know 
her  new,  her  only  friends  through  and  through,  those 
clippings  became  powerful  missionaries  of  The  Light  to 
her.  Their  facts  were  so  often  false,  so  often  malicious 
and  malignant;  their  arguments  were  so  often  tainted 

97 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

with  animosity,  so  rarely  free  from  cruel  sneers  and 
insults.  For  example,  she  once  read  a  venomous  attack 
upon  Mr.  Casewell,  cut  from  a  great  English  quarterly. 
It  was  a  mosaic  of  lying  personalities.  Not  a  statement 
of  importance  in  it  but  she  could  contradict  from  her 
own  knowledge  of  the  man.  And  in  the  heap  with  this 
article  were  cuttings  from  newspapers  and  magazines 
published  in  all  parts  of  the  English-speaking  world, 
each  cutting  an  indorsement  of  the  quarterly's  libel.  As 
she  read,  her  cheeks  burned.  And  finally  she  burst  out : 
"  How  they  lie  about  us !  " 

Mr.  Casewell  patted  her  on  the  shoulder.  He  had 
noted  that  significant  "  us,"  though  she  had  not.  He 
had  been  waiting,  praying,  for  it.  "  Be  calm,  child," 
he  said  with  gentle  cheerfulness.  "  We  must  not  let 
these  bearers  of  false  witness  ruffle  us." 

"  But  this  is  so  wickedly,  so  shamelessly  unjust ! " 
she  exclaimed. 

"  And  therefore  it  is  helping  the  cause,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Let  us  welcome  anything  that  helps  the 
cause.  The  Great  All  moves  in  many  ways  to  ac- 
complish his  ends.  And  you  may  be  sure  that  he  is  mov- 
ing most  powerfully  when  the  forces  of  The  Darkness 
snarl  and  snap  as  they  retreat  before  The  Light." 

"  But  it  is  impossible  to  sink  one's  personal  feelings 
altogether,"  protested  she. 

"  On  the  contrary  it  is  easy.  You  will  find  it  so 
98 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

when  you  have  been  here  a  while  longer  and  lose  that 
sense  of  personality  which  is  the  vanity  of  vanities. 
Then  you  will  have  only  pity  for  exhibitions  of  the  beast 
in  man." 

And  his  prophecy  speedily  came  true.  In  that 
serene  isolation  it  was  difficult  not  to  be  serene.  Rap- 
idly the  world  beyond  her  sheltered  domain  faded  into 
unreality;  and  the  harsh  echoes  from  it  in  newspapers 
and  magazines  seemed  far  and  faint — as  the  turmoil 
of  a  great  city  comes  over  a  high  wall  and  through 
many  and  dense  screens  of  leaves,  and  penetrates  to  a 
room  where  only  the  blue  of  sky  and  the  green  of  foliage 
are  visible. 

The  Mother-Light's  lapses  from  coherence  soon 
affected  her  only  in  the  same  way  that  they  affected 
Mr.  Casewell  and  Hinkley — reminding  her  of  the  black 
storm  that  hung  in  the  horizon  of  the  faith.  She  was 
under  the  spell  of  the  "  we,"  the  spell  of  "  the  organ- 
ization." And,  once  any  human  being  is  heartily  en- 
listed for  any  cause,  religious  or  political  or  financial 
or  merely  social,  that  spell  makes  him  fling  in  blindly 
his  whole  self,  makes  him  regard  any  question  of  his 
cause's  justice,  or  truth,  as  a  crime  and  a  sacrilege,  even 
though  that  question  rise  within  himself.  She  felt  that 
her  friends,  and  herself,  were  the  keepers  of  a  light- 
house aloof  on  a  lonely  shore  but  sending  out  its  beams 
over  the  angry,  cruel  sea  of  life  to  cheer  and  guide  a 

99 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

myriad  of  soul-ships.  Human  or  divine,  The  Light 
was  light.  And  whenever  it  flickered,  she  trembled — 
and  prayed,  like  her  friends. 

She  was,  in  her  attitude,  more  like  Hinkley — he,  too, 
had  the  periods  of  profound  depression.  They  both 
admired  and  strove  to  emulate  Mr.  Casewell.  He  felt 
• — and  he  made  them  feel  most  of  the  time — that  the 
miracle  would  surely  be  when  miracle  was  needed  to  save 
them,  that  the  severe  test  to  their  faith  would  be  brought 
to  a  glorious  end.  And  he  pointed  to  the  miracles  all 
round  them  for  confirmation.  Was  not  he  himself — the 
unchanging,  the  man  of  nearly  ninety  in  the  vigor  of 
thirty,  in  the  spirits  and  high  enthusiasm  of  twenty — a 
miracle?  Was  not  Ann  Banks  herself  a  miracle? 
Maida  had  penetrated  into  the  penumbra  always  sur- 
rounding that  face  far  enough  to  see  that  its  youth 
was  to  a  great  extent  an  elaborate  artificiality ;  still 
there  was  the  unartificial  youth  of  her  arms  and  hands 
and  voice,  explainable  in  a  woman  of  that  great  age 
only  on  the  theory  of  some  soul-force  fighting  a  super- 
human battle  against  decay.  And  there  were  days  when 
Ann  Banks's  mind  brilliantly  flashed  forth  in  its  former 
strength — on  those  days  the  three  who  watched  her  so 
anxiously  looked  hopefully  one  at  another,  their  looks 
saying :  "  Has  the  miracle  begun  ?  " 

Yes,  the  "  unborn  daughter  of  The  Light "  assured 
herself,  only  a  soul-force,  which  the  instruments  of  Sci- 

100 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

ence  had  not  been  able  to  resolve,  could  produce  these 
wonders.  Yes,  her  friends  were  on  the  track  of  the 
Great  Truth,  the  only  bridge  for  the  Black  Chasm; 
but  how  near?  Some  days  she  felt  that  they  were  very 
near ;  other  days,  and  nights,  she  doubted  and  feared. 

It  was  in  these  moods  of  depression,  following  the 
collapsing  of  their  hopes  through  Ann  Banks's  bright 
up-flashings,  that  Maida  often  surprised  in  Hinkley's 
eyes  the  passion  he  had  pledged  himself  not  to  speak  or 
to  show.  And  there  were  times  when  her  impulse  to 
respond  was  strong — her  sense  of  isolation  would  be 
overpowering;  or  she  was  longing  for  those  tangible 
expressions  of  sympathy,  those  tender  and  soothing 
caresses  that  smooth  away  the  ache  of  loneliness;  or  his 
unhappiness  would  be  appealing  to  her  instinct  to  con- 
sole. Once  she  began  to  yield  to  this  impulse: — 

"I've  never  been  able  to  thank  you,"  she  said, 
"  for  what  you  did  for  me."  She  had  just  glanced 
up  from  her  work  to  find  his  eyes  shifting  from  her, 
in  them  that  moving  look  of  passionate  longing  with- 
out hope. 

"  But  I  told  you — didn't  I  ? — that  you  owed  me  noth- 
ing," he  answered.  Then  he  added  sadly :  "  Besides, 
I'm  afraid  it  isn't  your  gratitude  that  I  want.  If  you 
were  not  beyond  my  reach — if  you  were  not  high  on  a 
pedestal  for  me " 

He  checked  himself,  and  she  said  presently,  without 
101 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

looking  at  him :  "  If  you  ever  do  really  fall  in  love, 
don't  put  her  on  a  pedestal,  Will.  A  woman  likes  to 
be  on  a  pedestal  for  every  man,  except  the  one  she  loves. 
For  him — She  wants  to  be  very,  very  human  to  him, 
and  wants  him  to  be  very,  very  human  to  her." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  have  ever  been  in  love,"  he 
replied — and  she,  conscious  of  his  intense  gaze,  had  a 
sense  of  walking  the  edge  of  a  height  from  which  she 
was  not  quite  sure  whether  she  wished  to  plunge. 

"  Sometimes  I  think  so,  too,"  she  answered,  dream- 
ily. "  I've  been  very  fond,  and  very  grateful  for — for 
— love,  but — I've  not  quite  understood  it.  I've  felt 
there  was  a  lack  in  me  or  else — a — door  in  my  heart  to 
which  no  one  had  ever  brought  the  key — and  behind 
the  door — the  real  me — waiting  to  be  released — or 
awakened." 

She  heard  him  catch  his  breath.  She  looked  at  him. 
She  knew  what  passions  surged  behind  that  pale,  dark 
face — the  fires  of  them  never  left  his  eyes.  And  she 
knew  that  she  herself  was  one  of  those  passions — that, 
the  fiercer  for  repression,  it  burned  side  by  side  with 
his  religion.  But  for  the  moment  her  prudence  had 
been  outgeneraled  by  her  longing,  and  she  had  for- 
gotten what  a  blaze  that  passion  was.  She  saw  it  leap- 
ing in  his  eyes,  transforming  his  face.  And  she  fled 
from  the  edge  of  the  height. 

He  stretched  out  his  arms — "  Maida ! "  he  ex- 
102 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

claimed.  He  did  not  know  that  a  woman  can  be  car- 
ried by  storm  only  when  the  storm  is  within  herself; 
nor,  had  he  known,  would  he  have  had  the  power  to 
control  himself  to  use  the  knowledge. 

"  No — no — not  that,  Will,"  she  cried  in  a  tone  that 
compelled  him  to  draw  back.  He  could  not  quickly 
hide  the  wound  she  had  made.  "  It  was  my  fault — I 
am  sorry — I  shall  not  do  it  again,"  she  said  remorse- 
fully. "  I  forgot — and — oh,  Will,  isn't  there  some- 
thing between?  Can't  I  feel  free  to  ask  your  sym- 
pathy, to  lean  on  you  when  I  haven't  the  strength  to 
stand  alone?  Must  I  be  always  on  my  guard?  " 

"  That  is  unjust,"  he  said  with  bitterness.  "  You 
admitted  it  was  your  fault,  and  now  you  turn  it  against 
me.  Why  don't  you  go  on  to  accuse  me  of  having  tried 
to  take  advantage  of  your  gratitude?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  was  her  humble  answer.  "  I 
had  an  impulse,  and  I  misunderstood  it." 

He  looked  at  her  drearily.  "  A  little  suffering  more 
or  less  doesn't  matter.  My  love  for  you  is  a  sin,  the 
suffering  is  my  penance." 

"  A  sin  ?  "  she  said.  "  That  is  not  the  name.  I 
think  your  love  is  noble,  like  you,  Will.  And  it  makes 
me  feel  how  poor  I  am  that  I  cannot  return  it." 

"  A  sin,"  he  repeated.  "  My  love  is  a  sin.  But 
the  pain  it  gives  me  ought  to  be  full  penance." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  she  said. 
103 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  Not  yet,"  was  his  reply  in  a  significant  tone. 
"  But — I  think  you  will — soon." 

She  did  not  question  him;  she  wished  to  get  clear 
away  from  that  dangerous  ground.  He  did  not  try 
to  detain  her,  but  he  went  back  to  it  as  he  was  leav- 
ing her  after  they  had  worked  in  silence  for  an  hour. 
"  Do  not  be  disturbed  by  what  happened  to-day,"  he 
said.  "  It  is  enough — far  more  than  I  could  ever 
have  hoped,  that  I  have  you  here.  And,  if  you're  be- 
yond my  reach,  you're  also  beyond  the  reach  of  any 
other  man." 

A  slight  and  decreasing  nervousness  the  few  next 
times  they  were  alone  together,  and  his  outburst  almost 
passed  from  her  mind.  Life  flowed  serenely  on  for  her, 
with  the  quiet  sparkle  of  content.  And  the  feeling  of 
changelessness  amid  a  world  of  change — the  feeling 
peculiar  to  that  atmosphere — took  away  from  her  all 
sense  of  time  as  well  as  all  sense  of  the  reality  of  the 
world  beyond  her  walls. 

But —  On  a  morning  in  early  spring  she  set  out 
for  the  salon  of  the  rose  light  by  the  usual  route  at  her 
accustomed  hour — eleven  o'clock.  As  she  was  coming 
along  the  hall  from  the  unused  dressing-room,  she  heard 
Ann  Banks's  voice — not  the  Mother-Light's,  but  the 
thin,  broken  voice  of  an  angry  old  woman,  its  tones 
full  of  the  melancholy  of  withered  vocal  chords.  "  It's 
not  I  you  worship !  "  the  voice  was  shrilling.  "  It's  the 

104 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

cause.  I  tell  you,  I  tell  you,  /  am  the  cause.  /  am  the 
Mother-Light." 

Maida  was  on  the  threshold  now.  As  the  canopied 
sofa  was  half-turned  from  her,  she  could  not  see  Ann 
Banks ;  but  there  stood  Mr.  Casewell,  his  head  bowed, 
his  lips  moving,  as  if  he  were  praying.  Never  before 
had  she  seen  him  suggest  the  old  age  of  ordinary  mor- 
tality. As  she  hesitated,  he  caught  sight  of  her,  hur- 
ried to  her  and  said  in  a  low  voice :  "  Please  come 
back  in  half  an  hour.  You  see  she  is  under  the  spell 
of  The  Darkness." 

"  Don't  send  her  away ! "  came  in  a  scream  like 
chords  struck  by  a  savage  hand  from  the  tuneless  strings 
of  an  old  harp.  "  Let  her  stay !  I  want  to  tell  her 
that  I  hate  her !  " 

Mr.  Casewell  took  Maida  by  the  hand.  "  You  must 
stay  now,"  he  said.  And  he  led  her  round  to  where  she 
and  Ann  Banks  were  face  to  face — Ann  Banks  huddled 
deep  in  the  shadow  of  her  canopy. 

"  Is  it  true?  "  said  Maida,  very  sad  and  very  earnest, 
gazing  into  the  dimness  where  a  face  was  visible  in 
faint  outline.  "  Do  you  hate  me?  "  She  was  utterly 
crushed  and  her  voice  and  her  face  and  even  her  form 
showed  it.  Again  misfortune,  and  a  new  beginning  of 
that  hideous  struggle  whose  wounds  were  just  ceasing 
to  smart.  And  this  catastrophe,  when  the  moment 
before  she  had  felt  secure  and  content  and  sheltered 

105 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

and  loved !  "  Oh,  why  did  you  hide  it  from  me  so  long? 
And  why  should  you  hate  me?  " 

"  She  does  not  mean  it,"  pleaded  Mr.  Casewell. 
"  She  does  not  know  what  she  is  saying.  When  her 
mind  is  clear,  she  loves  you  as  we  all  do." 

But  Maida  still  gazed  into  the  shadow — her  answer 
must  come  from  there. 

"  Do  not  try  to  deceive  her,  Albert,"  came  in  the 
Mother-Light's  own  voice,  sweet  and  clear,  and  melan- 
choly. "  It  is  true  that  I  hate  you,  my  child." 

"  Oh !  "  Maida  exclaimed,  hiding  her  face  with  both 
her  hands. 

"  But,"  the  Mother-Light  went  on,  "  that  is  of  no 
importance." 

Maida  had  turned,  was  feeling  her  way  toward  the 
door.  "  Come  here,  child,"  commanded  the  Mother- 
Light. 

Maida  paused  and  Mr.  Casewell  pushed  her  gently 
toward  the  canopied  sofa.  She  felt  a  hand  upon  her 
arm,  a  hand  that  drew  her  slowly  to  her  knees.  Then 
the  hand  was  smoothing  her  hair.  "  The  part  of  me 
that  hates  you,"  said  the  Mother-Light  tenderly,  "  is 
merely  the  human  part,  the  part  that  is  enslaved  by 
The  Darkness.  It  is  that  part  which  is  forcing  me 
toward  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  Death.  And  there 
— I  shall  shake  it  off!  What  is  important,  Maida,  is 
that  I,  the  Mother-Light,  love  you!  I  love  you  as  a 

106 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

mother  loves  the  child  she  feels  leaping  within  her ! " 
And  her  voice  was  like  the  last  chords  drawn  by  gentle, 
loving  fingers  from  an  old  harp  that  is  to  be  thereafter 
silent  forever. 

"  A  prophecy,  a  prophecy ! "  cried  Mr.  Casewell. 
"The  Light  shines!" 

The  hand  of  the  Mother-Light  slowly  slipped  from 
Maida's  head.  She  waited,  her  face  covered,  until  Mr. 
Casewell  touched  her,  whispered,  "  She  is  asleep,"  and 
helped  her  to  rise. 

In  her  own  rooms  again  and  alone,  she  said  aloud: 
"  I  must  go.  It  is  the  end."  Instantly  she  added,  "  But 
I  cannot,"  for  at  the  mere  suggestion  of  departure 
she  shivered  in  the  first  chill  breath  of  the  desert  she 
would  have  to  wander.  There  lay  despair;  here,  love 
and  hope — yes,  belief.  If  not  direct  belief  in  all  the 
doctrines  of  The  Light,  certainly  belief  in  its  guardians, 
her  friends,  the  only  friends  she  had  in  all  the  world. 

She  roamed  restlessly  about  her  apartment,  at  last 
going  to  the  dressing-room.  Its  two  smaller  closets 
were  filled  with  new  clothing  of  every  kind — Molly  had 
gone  to  New  York  for  it,  had  taken  such  trouble  and 
pains  about  it.  And  these  garments,  these  visible  re- 
minders of  the  loving  care  that  surrounded  her — her 
eyes  were  dim  with  tears.  To  leave — it  would  be  to  go 
alone  to  unequal  battle,  each  day  a  thousand  pin  pricks 

107 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

upon  her  bared  nerves,  thrust  after  thrust  into  pride 
and  self-respect. 

As  she  turned  to  leave  the  little  room,  she  happened 
to  notice  that  the  door  of  the  large  closet  was  ajar, 
that  the  closet  was  full — and  two  hours  before  it  had 
been  empty.  She  threw  the  door  wide,  saw  rows  on 
rows  of  black  robes  and  white  robes  of  the  kind  the 
Mother-Light  wore — soft,  gauze-like  materials  em- 
broidered with  dull  gold  sunbursts. 

She  leaned  against  the  dressing-table;  her  mind 
snatched  the  clue  and  raced  through  the  labyrinth  of 
the  mystery. 


108 


IX 


DAY  after  day,  and  the  Mother-Light  did  not  ap- 
pear, remained  in  the  seclusion  of  those  rooms  of  her 
apartment  to  which  she  never  admitted  anyone  but  Mr. 
Casewell.  It  had  frequently  occurred  that  she  was 
unable  to  take  part  in  the  morning  council ;  but  always 
theretofore,  for  at  least  part  of  the  day,  she  had  come 
into  the  salon  of  the  rose  light  and  had  listened — or, 
perhaps,  slept — while  Maida  read  to  her.  Still,  Maida 
would  not  have  been  so  profoundly  agitated  by  this 
change,  had  not  the  first  International  Assembly  been 
close  at  hand.  For  it  they  had  all  worked  together 
upon  a  most  elaborate  program;  at  it  the  semi-centen- 
nial of  The  Light  was  to  be  celebrated;  and  in  the 
original  call,  issued  just  after  Maida  came  to  the  Tem- 
ple of  Temples,  the  Mother-Light  had  announced  that 
she  would  herself  welcome  the  delegates  "  and  all  the 
children  of  The  Light,  and  all  others  who  may  come  " 
— would  welcome  them  on  the  afternoon  of  the  first  day 
of  the  Assembly  from  the  south  balcony  of  the  Temple 
of  Temples. 

When  that  appointed  apparition  in  the  open  air,  in 
full  day,  was  only  four  days  away,  Maida  read  in  Mr. 
8  109 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

Casewell's  deepened  lines  and  nervous  eyes  the  anxiety 
against  which  he  was  fighting  as  a  sinful  suggestion  of 
The  Darkness.  "  Can't  I  help  you?  "  she  asked,  over- 
coming her  dread  of  intruding. 

He  shook  his  head,  and  by  an  effort  of  that  amazing 
will  of  his  effaced  from  his  features  the  look  of  care. 

"  Sometimes  I  have  been  able  to  rouse  her,"  she  per- 
sisted. "  Why  not  let  me  try?  " 

"  She  does  not  hear,  doesn't  recognize  even  me,"  he 
answered.  "  We  must  leave  her  to  The  Light.  We 
can  do  nothing — and  need  do  nothing." 

She  felt  that  somehow  her  doubts  and  fears  would 
be  put  to  shame — whether  faith  in  him  or  faith  in  the 
faith  gave  her  this  deep-seated  conviction,  she  could  not 
decide.  And  not  until  two  days  before  the  opening, 
when  the  House  of  Pilgrims  was  reported  half  filled  by 
arriving  foreign  delegates,  did  her  faltering  courage 
faint.  Hinkley  joined  her  for  a  walk  in  the  garden — 
her  garden  they  all  called  it  now.  He  always  looked 
somber,  but  she  thought  his  face  was  paler  than  usual 
and  his  eyes  seemed  dull,  as  if  the  fires  that  lighted  them 
were  low.  At  last,  unable  longer  to  restrain  herself, 
she  said :  "  But  will  she  be  able  to  appear — the  day 
after  to-morrow?  " 

"  There  has  been  no  leading  from  The  Light  to  the 
contrary,"  he  replied.  The  note  of  defiance  in  his  voice 
showed  that  his  faith  was  in  torment. 

110 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  But — what  if — she  couldn't?  "  she  ventured. 
"  You  know  how  the  newspapers  and  the  religious  press 
have  been  taunting  us  for  the  last  three  months.  They 
are  so  confident.  Oh,  Will,  why  was  that  challenge  ac- 
cepted? " 

"  The  Mother-Light  herself  commanded  it." 

"  But — "  she  began,  and  stopped  there,  silenced  by 
an  imploring  look  from  him. 

"To  doubt  is  to  doubt  The  Light,"  he  said. 
"  Whatever  happens,  it  will  be  for  the  glory  of  the 
cause."  And  he  left  her. 

She  was  relieved  to  be  alone  with  the  forebodings 
that  made  her  heart-sick.  The  cause — the  cause  of 
these  people  whom  she  loved  and  who  loved  her — was 
it  not  her  cause,  too?  Had  their  faith  led  them  to 
hurry  it  and  themselves  on  to  ruin?  Ruin  seemed 
too  feeble  a  word  for  the  catastrophe  that  would  fol- 
low the  colossal  collapse.  She  did  not  sleep  that  night, 
and  when  she  saw  Mr.  Casewell's  face  the  next  morning, 
she  shut  herself  in  and  remained  alone,  not  sleeping, 
eating  nothing,  sitting  with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  impend- 
ing disaster.  Some  time  during  that  night  before  the 
apparition  she,  following  an  impulse  she  did  not  try  to 
fathom,  went  into  the  hall,  to  Mr.  Casewell's  door,  lis- 
tened there.  She  could  hear  him  praying.  And  she 
fell  upon  her  knees  and,  addressing  the  force  or  mind 
or  heart  or  whatever  it  was  she  vaguely  felt  lay  behind 

111 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

the  mystery  of  the  universe,  she,  too,  prayed — not 
coherent  petitions,  but  an  opening  of  her  soul  full 
of  love  for  these  friends  of  hers,  these  friends  in  her 
need. 

How  long  she  knelt  there  she  did  not  know — per- 
haps, part  of  the  time,  through  overwrought  sleepless 
nerves  and  long  fasting,  she  was  unconscious  or  in  a 
delirium.  When  she  was  again  noting  clearly  what  was 
passing  round  her,  Mr.  Casewell's  door  was  open  and 
the  old  man  was  kneeling  beside  her.  As  he  lifted  his 
face  she  looked  in  astonishment.  Instead  of  anxiety  or 
despairing  resignation,  he  was  irradiating  the  serenest, 
proudest  conviction  of  the  truth  of  his  faith  she  had 
ever  seen  even  in  his  countenance. 

"  It  is  too  cold  for  you  here,  child,  when  you  are 
so  lightly  clad,"  he  said,  rising  and  helping  her  to  rise. 
And  then  she  noticed  that  she  had  on  only  her  night- 
dress. Her  hair,  which  she  had  unloosed  because  the 
weight  of  its  coils  seemed  to  add  to  her  headache,  was 
streaming  round  her  like  a  soft  bronze  fabric  of  curious 
weave  and  tint.  The  old  apostle  led  her  to  the  door  of 
her  apartment.  He  kissed  her  brow.  "  Good-night," 
he  said.  "  Your  prayers  will  be  answered.  May  The 
Light  shine  in  you  ever — Amen !  " 

Molly,  entering  toward  noon,  found  her  lying  on 
a  sofa  in  the  sitting-room,  in  dressing-gown  and  bed- 
room slippers,  her  hair  loosely  braided  now.  She  felt 

112 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

neither  happy  nor  miserable,  neither  well  nor  ill;  she 
seemed  to  herself  to  have  no  body,  to  be  aloof  from 
the  people  and  events  about  her,  a  spectator  with 
hearing  and  sight  but  no  power  to  feel.  Molly  was  in 
high  enthusiasm,  related  in  detail  the  opening  services, 
the  pageantry,  the  wonderful  appearance  of  her  grand- 
father and  his  superhuman  effect  upon  the  assembled 
thousands.  "  And  now,  in  less  than  three  hours,"  said 
she,  "  we  shall  have  the  apparition.  Already  thousands 
are  on  the  lawns  before  the  south  balcony.  There'll 
be  at  least  fifteen  thousand  of  the  followers  of  The  Light 
— and  five  or  ten  thousand  unbelievers.  Mr.  Floycroft 
says  there  are  more  than  a  hundred  sick  people.  Some- 
one told  him  that  four  died  in  Trenton  last  night.  Poor 
souls!  If  they  had  only  had  the  faith  to  keep  them 
alive  a  few  hours  longer." 

"  Then  there  is  to  be  an  apparition?  "  came  from  the 
figure  on  the  sofa,  in  a  dull,  far-away  voice. 

Molly  glanced  at  her  in  surprise.  "  Why — what 
makes  you  ask  that  ?  "  she  inquired. 

She  did  not  answer.     She  turned  away  her  face. 

"  Certainly,"  Molly  went  on.  "  Grandfather  an- 
nounced it  again  from  the  rostrum  of  the  Hall  of  The 
Light — not  an  hour  ago.  But  I  see  you're  half  asleep. 
I'll  leave  you." 

Maida  did  not  detain  her.  It  was  a  superb  late 
April  day.  As  she  stood  at  the  window,  looking  out  on 

113 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

her  garden,  which  seemed  like  a  young  baby  in  its  rosy 
freshness  and  vigor,  there  came  to  her  from  beyond  the 
walls  solemn  music  of  the  great  organ  in  the  Hall  of 
The  Light,  swelling  out  an  anthem.  And  she  lifted  her 
eyes  and  there  was  the  huge  banner  of  the  faith,  stream- 
ing and  flashing  in  crimson  and  gold ;  and  all  around  it, 
on  and  on  into  the  infinities  of  the  sky,  oceans  upon 
oceans  of  light,  the  perfect  symbol  of  the  eternal — of 
the  deathless  and  the  ageless.  "  Light !  "  she  mur- 
mured, "  Light ! "  as  her  soul  drank  it  in  at  every 
sense. 

"  Is  it  time  ?  "  she  asked,  half  an  hour  later,  without 
turning  her  head,  for  she  had  felt  Mr.  Casewell  enter 
and  pause  behind  her. 

"  Not  quite  yet,"  he  answered.  Then,  after  they 
had  watched  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes  the  banner 
breasting  proudly  that  sea  of  light,  he  went  on:  "I 
have  just  come  from  her.  The  end  is  not  far  away. 
You  knew  it?" 

"  Yes,"  her  lips  formed. 

"  How  mysterious  are  the  ways  of  the  Great  All," 
he  pursued.  "  We  know  now  that  we  were  in  error  in 
regarding  her  as  the  final  expression  of  the  Mother- 
Light.  We  see  that  she  was  too  old  in  the  life  of  The 
Darkness  before  the  revelation  was  shed  into  her.  It 
is  all  so  simple,  so  natural — our  error,  our  human  mis- 
take. Yet,  if  it  should  become  public  thousands  would 

114 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

reject  the  miracles  that  have  been  performed  daily  for 
fifty  years." 

"  But  wouldn't  the  truth  have  been  best?  "  she  ex- 
claimed, suddenly  turning  toward  him.  "  How  could 
the  truth  dim — The  Light?  Wouldn't  the  truth  save 
all — yet  ?  Isn't  that  the  leading  of  The  Light  ?  " 

"  Truth !  "  He  smiled  mournfully.  "  You  speak 
as  if  truth  were  something  absolute.  Instead,  it  is  rel- 
ative. It  never  alters  in  one  respect — it  is  always 
whatever  sustains  and  strengthens  the  aspirations  of  a 
soul.  But  it  does  alter  for  every  soul — as  the  diamond 
shows  a  varying  facet  and  light  according  to  the  angle 
of  the  eye.  Truth  that  would  uplift  the  strong  would 
crush  the  weak.  Truth  that  uplifts  the  weak  excites 
contempt,  or  at  best  tolerance,  in  the  strong." 

"  I  had  not  thought  of  that,"  she  confessed. 

"  If,"  he  went  on,  "  we  exposed  the  one  error,  our 
error,  we  should  extinguish  The  Light  for  a  thousand 
thousand  souls  now  struggling  toward  it." 

"  But  would  not  The  Light  protect  its  own  ?  " 

"  That  is  another  of  the  mysteries,"  he  replied. 
"  Why  does  not  The  Light  seek  out  man  ?  Why 
must  he  seek  it?  Why  must  he  stumble  toward 
it,  helped  by  all  sorts  of  weak,  clumsy  hands?  We  do 
not  know.  But  we  do  know — "  And  his  voice  thrilled 
with  the  intensity  of  his  emotion — "  that  the  hand  that 
extinguishes  any  lamp  of  faith  however  feeble  is  im- 

115 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

pious — impious!  Oh,  child,  think  of  the  thousands  to 
whom  this  faith,  this  sum  of  all  the  stars  of  faith,  this 
true  sun  of  The  Light,  is  the  sole  alternative  to  utter 
darkness !  How  happy  they  are  in  it !  How  its  beauty 
pervades  all  their  relations  of  life,  makes  them  not 
mere  savage  battlers  in  the  dark  for  the  things  that  glut 
the  senses,  not  mere  despairing  fighters  in  this  cock-pit 
of  a  world,  but  immortalities  striving  to  bathe  in  The 
Light  and  to  draw  others  into  its  refulgence!  They 
were  animals,  slaves  of  the  law  of  tooth  and  claw. 
They  are  as  the  gods,  free  in  The  Light.  Say  The 
Light  is  darkness;  say  its  truth  is  falsehood;  say  we 
of  the  inner  service  are  hypocrites  and  cheats.  And 
still,  if  you  could,  would  you  put  this  light  from  thou- 
sands of  lives?  Would  you  plunge  them  again  in 
darkness?  Would  you  start  again  in  their  bodies  the 
racking  pains  it  has  taken  away?  Would  you  drop 
their  souls  again  into  the  hell  of  unbelief?  Would 
you?  " 

"No,"  she  cried,  all  on  fire.  "No— no!  For  I 
have  suffered."  Her  eyes  glistened  with  tears  that 
scalded.  "  If  I  could  believe,  really  believe,  I  shall  see 
my  baby  again,  I'd  think  no  death  too  awful  for  any- 
one who  tried  to  take  that  belief  from  me.  What  does 
an  aching  heart  care  for  truth?  It  wants  any  medi- 
cine that  will  ease  its  pain." 

"  And  the  medicine  that  does  relieve  the  pain,"  he 
116 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

asked,  "  is  it  not  in  its  essence  the  truth?  You  who 
know  us — you  whom  we  have  trusted — you  do  not  mis- 
judge us.  You  know  that,  even  when  we  have  had  to 
build  bridges  of  illusion  across  the  chasms  between  The 
Darkness  and  The  Light,  we  have  built  them  only  that 
mankind  might  cross  from  sorrow  to  serenity.  We  have 
harmed  no  one.  We  have  led  thousands  to  health  and 
happiness.  And  where  else  is  there  hope  but  through 
The  Light?  Until  recently  the  world  was  a  wretched 
place,  made  wretched  by  tyranny,  war,  plague,  famine. 
But  now  it  is  becoming  a  comfortable  place.  Life  is 
no  longer  a  bondage  but  the  supreme  good.  Death  is 
no  longer  a  release  but  a  curse.  And  the  Beyond  has 
retreated  into  a  vague  speculation.  What  then  of  hope 
is  there  against  the  rising  flood  of  brutal  materialism? 
And  how  can  mankind  be  relieved  of  the  two  great 
curses,  disease  and  death,  and  at  the  same  time  be  spiri- 
tualized? The  Light!  It  is  the  only  hope.  And  its 
miracles  of  death  baffled  will  be  followed  by  miracles  of 
death  destroyed — destroyed  by  living  the  life  beautiful 
—the  life  of  The  Light!" 

"  The  life  beautiful ! "  she  murmured,  her  gaze 
roaming  that  infinite  glorious  sea  of  light  whose  spark- 
ling waves  were  caressing  the  banner  of  The  Cause. 

"  You  believe  ?  "  he  said.  "  Your  prayers  are  an- 
swered ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  answered.  "  I  only  know  that 
117 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

The  Light  must  shine  on."  She  drew  a  long  breath, 
and  her  expression  made  him  bend  his  head  and  clasp 
his  hands.  "  It  shall  shine  on !  "  she  cried.  "  My  heart 
speaks  clearly.  I  must  help  those  who  have  helped  me. 
If  that  is  doing  wrong — then — it  is  right  for  me  to  do 
wrong  for  those  I  love." 

She  did  not  ask  him  what  was  expected  of  her.  In 
that  debatable  region  between  the  obviously  right  and 
the  obviously  wrong — the  region  where  such  a  large, 
and  such  an  important,  part  of  the  human  drama  is 
enacted — mind  prefers  to  interpret  itself  to  mind  with- 
out the  precision  and  deliberateness  of  speech.  Nor 
did  she  need  to  question  him.  She  had  suspected  ever 
since  she  found  the  Mother-Light's  robes  in  her  closet; 
for  two  days  and  nights — forty-eight  hours  of  sleep- 
lessness— she  had  known.  Until  two  days  ago,  she 
thought  that  if  the  situation  ever  came  about — which 
it  probably  would  not — it  would  bring  with  it  a  clear 
revelation  from  The  Light.  Now — the  situation  was 
here;  but  the  revelation?  She  was  not  sure. 

As  she  seated  herself  at  the  dressing-table,  she  looked 
her  act,  as  that  act  then  seemed  to  her,  straight  in  the 
face.  "  They  are  all  honest,"  she  said,  half -aloud,  to 
her  reflected  eyes,  "  but  you " 

The  eyes  shifted,  but  remained  resolute,  defiantly 
resolute. 

118 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

Without  letting  herself  look  directly  at  herself 
again,  she  went  swiftly  forward  with  her  toilet.  She 
did  not  need  the  portrait  in  miniature  on  one  of  the 
tables  in  the  sitting-room.  She  could  remember  every 
detail  perfectly.  She  built  her  hair  into  the  curious 
mass  of  puffs,  front  and  side — like  a  strangely  fash- 
ioned casque  or  crown  of  bronze.  "  I  am  ghastly  pale," 
she  murmured,  and  she  rubbed  rouge  into  her  cheeks 
and  upon  her  temples,  and  upon  her  lips.  Still  without 
a  direct  look  at  herself,  she  took  a  robe  of  black,  gauzy, 
flowing,  clinging,  embroidered  with  dull  gold  sunbursts. 
She  put  it  on,  fastened  it  and  arranged  its  folds  before 
the  long  mirror.  As  she  examined  herself  in  the  back 
with  the  aid  of  a  hand-glass,  her  eyes  almost  met  her 
reflected  eyes. 

Her  toilet  was  finished.  "  Now ! "  she  exclaimed, 
closing  her  eyes,  compressing  her  lips  and  stationing 
herself  squarely  in  front  of  the  long  mirror.  She 
slowly  opened  her  eyes;  and  the  image  she  saw  at  full 
length  made  her  pale  under  her  rouge. 

It  was  the  Mother-Light. 

She  advanced  toward  the  mirror  until  she  and  this 
new  personality  were  close  each  to  the  other.  She 
looked  into  its  eyes.  And  within  her  there  suddenly 
came  a  shock  of  recognition.  She  knew  now  who  that 
other  personality  within  her  was.  "  Her  unborn 
daughter,"  she  murmured.  "  /  never  looked  like  that. 

119 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

I  could  never  make  myself  look  like  that.     I  am  now  not 
like  her — I  am  she,  herself." 

As  soon  as  she  turned  away,  reason  tried  to  scoff 
"  superstition  "  out  of  her  mind.  "  You  are  a  cheat !  " 
reason  said  to  her.  She  frowned  it  down  as  if  it  had 
uttered  a  blasphemy. 


120 


ME.  CASEWEI/L  and  Hinkley  were  in  the  workroom, 
waiting  for  her.  Usually  Hinkley  could  soon  yield  up 
his  doubts  under  the  spell  of  his  chief's  utter  confi- 
dence. And  never  had  that  confidence  shone  more 
serene.  But  the  Second  Apostle,  in  restless  eyes  and 
frequent  moistening  of  the  lips,  betrayed  his  inability 
wholly  to  submit.  As  the  minute-hand  passed  the  last 
quarter  and  began  to  creep  toward  the  hour,  he  paced 
nervously  up  and  down,  watching  now  with  admiring 
envy  and  now  with  irritation  the  placid  face  of  his 
superior.  At  last  he  restrained  himself  to  halt  at  the 
window  where  he  stood  regarding  the  closely  packed 
throngs  on  the  lawns,  with  dry,  hot  eyes  and  parched 
throat.  He  wheeled  and,  before  his  courage  oozed, 
hoarsely  began  the  question  that  in  the  past  hour  had 
been  a  dozen  times  upon  his  tongue.  "  If  there  should 
be  a  miscarriage " 

Mr.  Casewell's  calm,  luminous  eyes  rested  upon  him. 
"  There  can  be  no  miscarriage." 

"  Then  you  have  provided  no  line  of  retreat? " 
Even  when  victory  is  inevitable,  he  was  thinking,  the 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

wise  general  never  neglects  the  precaution  of  a  line  of 
retreat. 

Mr.  Casewell  shook  his  massive  head  in  gentle  re- 
proof. "  After  a  leading  from  The  Light,  to  arrange 
for  a  retreat  would  be  to  arrange  for  disaster.  Not 
by  doubt,  Hinkley,  but  by  faith  does  The  Light  pre- 
vail ! " 

Hinkley  interlaced  his  long  slim  fingers.  "  The 
curse  of  doubt ! "  he  cried.  "  Why  does  it  not  leave 
me?  It  must  be  the  penalty — part  of  the  penalty — for 
my  sin — for  the  sinful  longings  which  I  will  not  cast 
from  me ! " 

Mr.  CasewelPs  expression  of  sympathy  was  so  mov- 
ing that  it  tempted  Hinkley  to  confess.  "  Confession 
would  ease  me,"  he  reflected,  "  might  help  me  to  cast 
out  this  guilty  love  for  Her." 

He  was  still  choosing  words  in  which  to  phrase  a 
beginning  when  the  blind  door  of  the  passage  down  into 
the  west  wing  slowly  moved.  If  that  widening  space 
had  not  compelled  all  his  ability  to  see,  he  might  have 
got  a  consoling  glimpse  into  the  depths  of  his  chief. 
For,  Mr.  Casewell's  strength  deserted  him.  He  could 
not  rise;  he  dared  not  lift  his  eyes,  knowing  that  what 
they  would  see  would  determine  the  destiny  of  his  re- 
ligion. A  pain  shot  through  him  that  made  him  feel 
old  and  mortally  sick,  with  the  cold  lips  of  Death  suck- 
ing life  from  his  veins. 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

A  stifled  cry  from  Hinkley  roused  him  and  with  dull 
eyes  he  looked  at  her  as  she  stood  in  the  narrow  door- 
way— a  full-length,  living  portrait  of  the  Mother- 
Light!  Yes,  the  Mother-Light,  she  and  none  other; 
but  how  idealized,  how  etherealized !  From  the  glory 
of  her  hair  to  the  hem  of  her  sunburst-strewn  robe,  the 
high  priestess  and  embodiment  of  his  religion  of  The 
Light !  He  burst  into  sobs. 

She  understood,  and  her  blood  surged  and  her  heart 
beat  high.  She  glanced  at  Hinkley  for  his  tribute.  But 
he  had  turned  away;  his  hands  were  clinched  and  his 
shoulders  tense,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  tear  his  arms 
from  their  sockets.  He,  too,  had  seen  that  she  was  the 
Mother-Light.  But  instead  of  rejoicing,  he  was  torn 
by  the  torment  of  hope's  death-agony — the  hope  whose 
existence  he  had  not  suspected,  so  slyly  had  it  kept  it- 
self hid  behind  his  self-deceptions.  He  turned  sharply 
away  to  hide  from  her,  and  to  conquer,  the  sin  that 
leaped  and  strained  in  his  eyes  at  sight  of  that  which 
had  seemed  to  him  desirable  above  all  things  from  the 
first  time  he  saw  her,  that  which  now  made  despair  rouse 
the  energy  of  his  longings  to  its  fiercest. 

"  I  am  ready,"  she  said. 

Hinkley  went  to  the  heavy  draperies  over  the  en- 
trance to  the  salon  of  the  rose  light.  He  threw  them 
back  and  opened  wide  the  double  doors.  The  room  was 
empty;  and  unfamiliar  it  seemed  to  her,  flooded  with 

123 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

daylight  from  the  French  windows  giving  on  the  bal- 
cony. 

"  Come ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Casewell,  like  a  bugle-note 
of  triumph.  He  was  in  a  white  cassock  with  a  huge 
gold  sunburst  embroidered  upon  its  bosom ;  a  richly  em- 
broidered crimson  stole  hung  from  his  mighty  shoulders 
almost  to  the  edge  of  the  skirts  of  his  cassock. 

He  opened  the  window-doors  and  stepped  out  alone 
upon  the  balcony.  She,  well  back,  saw  him  lift  his  right 
hand  as  if  in  signal.  And  there  rose  an  anthem  from  a 
distant  choir — so  sweet  and  noble  was  the  sound  that  it 
might  have  been  the  voice  of  that  perfect  afternoon  of 
warm  and  flooding  sunshine.  He  came  back  into  the 
room;  they  stood  waiting  until  the  anthem  was  ended. 
Then,  after  a  pause  of  perhaps  half  a  minute,  he  said 
to  her :  "  Go  out  alone."  And  he  and  Hinkley  knelt 
and  bent  their  heads. 

The  tears  welled  into  her  eyes.  She  was  not  think- 
ing now  of  what  she  had  to  face  or  of  who  or  what 
she  was,  but  only  of  these  friends  of  hers  who  had  put 
themselves  and  their  all  into  her  keeping.  She  advanced 
very  slowly  toward  the  windows;  just  as  she  began  to 
wonder  if  she  would  not  falter,  from  somewhere,  whether 
from  within  or  from  without  she  did  not  know,  there 
came  a  rush  of  calm  courage.  At  the  casement  she 
paused  again — she  could  see  the  front  of  the  Hall  of 
The  Light  opposite,  the  choir  massed  on  its  steps  and 

124 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

among  the  pillars  of  its  lofty  porch.  High  above  shone 
the  crimson  and  gold  banner,  its  fluttering  folds  beckon- 
ing her  on,  waving  ecstatic  welcome  to  her  from  those 
crystal  oceans  of  light.  She  walked  statelily  out  upon 
the  balcony,  advanced  to  its  railing.  The  world — the 
world  from  which  she  had  been  separated  so  long — 
swam  giddily  before  her  eyes. 

Now,  she  could  make  out  through  the  haze  of  her 
dizziness  the  whole  of  the  massive  front  of  the  Hall  of 
The  Light.  Now,  she  was  seeing  the  intervening  space 
— the  broad,  treeless  lawns,  the  walks  and  drives,  all 
completely  covered  by  thousands  on  thousands  of  human 
beings.  A  vast  garden  blooming  like  a  daisy  field  with 
the  strange  white  flowers  of  upturned  faces.  She 
trembled — for,  from  that  throng  came  no  sound. 

There  was  a  fierce  tightening  at  her  heart,  a  cruel 
dryness  of  the  throat;  she  leaned  against  the  rail  that 
she  might  not  fall  should  her  legs  fulfil  their  threat 
to  fail  her.  "  They  suspect !  "  an  awful  voice  shrieked 
through  her  mind.  "  I  have  ruined  my  friends !  " 

A  murmur  came  from  the  crowd — she  nerved  herself 
for  defiance.  The  murmur  rose  into  a  terrible,  pas- 
sionate cry  that  made  her  heart  quake — "  Oh,  my  God !  " 
she  moaned.  "  They  will  kill  me."  But  she  held  her- 
self the  straighter  and  lifted  her  head  the  higher. 

The  cry  swelled  to  a  shout,  and  in  the  flash-like  re- 
vulsion her  dizzied  brain  almost  made  her  stagger — 
9  125 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

there  was  no  mistaking  that  shout.  "  They  are  saying 
something — what  is  it  ?  "  she  wondered.  "  They  are 
moving — what  does  it  mean  ?  " 

Her  vision  cleared,  the  ringing  in  her  ears  and  the 
frenzied  pounding  of  the  blood  in  her  temples  ceased. 
She  heard  the  cry— "  The  Mother-Light!  The 
Mother-Light ! "  from  fifteen  thousand  throats.  And 
— all  those  multitudes  were  falling  on  their  knees. 
They  knelt,  they  clasped  their  hands,  and  stretched 
them  toward — toward  her!  They  cried :  "  The  Mother- 
Light  !  Hear  us,  heal  us,  Mother ! "  Believers  were 
beside  themselves;  unbelievers,  swept  from  their  balance 
by  the  tidal-wave  of  adulation,  were  thrilled  and  con- 
vinced. 

And  she —  It  had  convinced  her  also,  for  it  swept 
up  to  that  balcony,  drowned  her  reason  fathoms  deep, 
enthroned  her  nature  of  dream  and  fantasy.  "  I  am  the 
Mother-Light ! "  her  proud  heart  exulted.  She  was 
drunk  with  adoration — the  wine  which,  once  but  tasted, 
puts  in  the  heart  a  thirst  that  can  never  be  slaked, 
puts  in  the  brain  a  madness  that  can  never  be  cured. 
And  she  was  not  merely  tasting;  she  was  drinking, 
drinking  deep.  "  I  am  the  Mother-Light !  "  Did  not 
the  divine  voice  of  the  multitude  proclaim  it? 

"  Hear  us,  Mother !     Heal  us !  " 

Thousands  on  thousands  of  eyes  blazing  at  her  a 
belief  that  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  doubt  herself. 

126 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

Thousands  on  thousands  of  hearts  enthroning,  exalting, 
worshiping  her.  She  extended  her  long  arms,  her 
long  white  hands  with  their  strong  palms  and  fingers. 
All  heads  bowed.  There  fell  a  silence  so  profound 
that  the  sound  of  the  faint  wind  in  the  fringes 
of  trees  along  the  distant  edges  of  the  lawns  came  dis- 
tinctly, like  a  sigh  of  adoring  ecstasy  from  nature  itself. 
And  that  bright  banner — how  its  jubilant  tossing 
thrilled  her !  And  those  oceans  of  light  pouring  around 
and  through  her ! 

Then,  out  at  the  huge  wide-flung  doors  of  the  Hall 
of  The  Light  rolled  an  enormous  billow  of  solemn  music 
— the  cathedral-organ  echoing  and  confirming  the  divine 
decree  of  the  multitude.  She  slowly  lowered  her  arms, 
and  with  a  last  radiant  look  at  the  kneeling  throngs, 
stepped  backward,  was  gone  from  their  view.  As  she 
re-entered  the  salon,  Mr.  Casewell  and  Hinkley  swung 
the  windows  shut.  Through  them  came  the  booming 
of  the  organ,  drowned  presently  in  a  delirious  shout — 
the  hallelujahs  of  those  intoxicated  believers.  At  those 
sounds,  her  bosom  swelled.  "  I  am  the  Mother-Light !  " 
she  said  to  herself,  as  convinced  as  the  most  fanatical 
of  the  children  of  The  Light. 

She  heard  a  cry — between  a  groan  and  a  shriek. 
It  snatched  her  mask  from  her  even  before  she  was  con- 
scious that  she  knew  whence  it  came.  She  half-turned 
— in  the  door  leading  to  Ann  Banks's  bedroom  stood 

127 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

an  old  woman,  so  bent,  so  wrinkled  that  she  seemed  some 
devil's  travesty  upon  old  age.  The  face  was  writhing 
and  the  eyes  were  streaming  hate  toward  her. 

"  Ann  Banks !  "  she  gasped. 

"  Impious  wretch !  "  screamed  the  old  woman,  totter- 
ing toward  her,  with  fingers  working  and  head  wag- 
gling in  a  palsy-like  motion.  "  Take  off  that  robe ! 
Albert !  Hinkley !  Tear  it  from  her !  " 

Mr.  Casewell  rushed  toward  Ann  Banks,  put  himself 
in  front  of  her,  hid  her  from  Maida.  "  Ann !  Ann !  " 
he  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of  entreaty. 

She  flung  herself  toward  him.  "  How  dare  you  call 
me  that !  "  she  screamed.  "  /  am  the  Mother-Light ! 
Bow !  Bow !  On  your  knees,  blasphemer !  " 

He  sank  to  his  knees,  and  Maida  saw  her  again — 
and  shrank  and  cowered.  Not  for  all  those  years  had 
Ann  Banks  been  accustomed  to  adoration  without  ac- 
quiring majesty.  Even  in  her  dishevelment,  with  the 
least  exalted  of  passions  rending  her,  she  still  had  the 
power  to  show  through  her  wrecked  body  the  haughti- 
ness of  her  soul. 

Suddenly  she  clutched  at  her  throat,  staggered. 
From  her  lips  came  a  wail  of  despair.  "  Oh,  my  God !  '* 
she  cried.  "  I  am  mortal !  How  I  suffer — how  I  suf- 
fer ! "  And  shaking  with  terror  of  threatening  death, 
she  dragged  herself  to  Maida,  sank  at  her  feet,  caught 
at  the  train  of  the  gold-embroidered  robe  of  the  Mother- 

128 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

Light.  She  kissed  the  folds  with  mumbling  lips. 
"  I'm  only  an  old  woman,"  she  muttered.  "  You  are 
the  Mother-Light !  But  some  day  you  may  be  as  I  am 
now.  I  suffer — I  suffer!  And  they  won't  send  for  a 
doctor,  though  I  beg  them  to.  Mother-Light,  I  am  an 
old  woman — too  sick  and  weak  for  faith.  Send  for  a 
doctor.  Show  mercy,  as  you  hope  to  have  mercy  shown 
you  some  day." 

Maida  sank  into  a  chair,  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

"  She's  out  of  her  mind,"  murmured  Hinkley  in  her 
ear. 

Maida  shuddered  and  sprang  to  her  feet.  "  You 
will  do  as  she  wishes ! "  she  commanded.  "  She  must 
have  a  doctor." 

"  Impossible,"  pleaded  Hinkley  in  a  low  voice — Mr. 
Casewell  had  lifted  Ann  Banks  and  was  leading  her 
away.  "  Think  what  that  would  mean.  The  doctors 
are  bitterest  against  us,  eagerest  to  destroy  us." 

"  She  shall  have  a  doctor ! "  said  Maida  inflexibly. 
"  I  shall  go  for  one  myself  if  you  do  not." 

Mr.  Casewell  had  laid  Ann  Banks  upon  the  sofa — 
she  was  in  a  stupor  again.  He  advanced  to  Maida  and 
Hinkley.  "  Very  well,"  he  said  to  her.  "  You  are 
right.  The  matter  can  be  arranged." 

"  She  must  have  a  doctor — at  once,"  repeated 
Maida. 

129 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  As  soon  as  he  can  be  brought  from  New  York," 
replied  Mr.  Casewell.  "  Hinkley  will  telegraph  for  Doc- 
tor Thorndyke  immediately.  I  must  stay  here — with 
her."  And  he  gazed  sorrowfully  toward  the  piteous 
figure  upon  the  lounge. 

Maida  looked  at  him  suspiciously.  "  How  will  I 
know  that  they  are  bringing  a  real  physician  ?  "  she  said 
to  herself.  Then  she  asked :  "  Who  is  Doctor  Thorn- 
dyke?" 

"  He  is  my  grandnephew,"  replied  Mr.  Casewell, 
and  his  bearing  made  her  ashamed  of  her  suspicion. 
"  He  is  young,  but  one  of  the  distinguished  surgeons 
in  New  York — and  a  good  physician.  I  send  for  him 
because  there  is  a  possibility  that  he  may  not  betray  us 
— if — "  He  did  not  finish,  but  after  a  long  look  of 
entreaty,  said  to  her :  "  I  studied  medicine  in  my  youth. 
I  assure  you  that,  looking  at  her  case  from  the  worldly 
standpoint,  nothing  can  be  done  for  her,  absolutely 
nothing.  Can  you  not  take  my  assurance  and  spare  us 
the— the  sin?" 

Maida  lowered  her  eyes  and  flushed.  "  If  I 
did,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  if — if — anything — 
should  happen,  I  should  feel  that  I  had  committed  a 
crime." 

Without  another  sign  of  protest  Mr.  Casewell  went 
to  the  table  and  wrote.  "  Here,  Hinkley,"  he  said. 
"  Take  this  to  the  telegraph  office  in  Trenton,  yourself. 

130 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

And  you'd  better  wait  there  until  he  comes — he'll  leave 
New  York  by  the  first  train." 

Hinkley  went,  and  Mr.  Casewell  returned  to  Ann 
Banks.  Tenderly  as  a  mother,  he  took  the  old  woman 
in  his  arms  and  bore  her  toward  her  bedroom.  Maida, 
left  alone,  wearily  dragged  herself  back  to  her  own  sit- 
ting-room. With  her  hands  clasped  behind  her  head 
she  stared  dully  into  vacancy.  She  was  worn  out,  heart- 
sick— and  she  loathed  herself.  "  I — Maida  Hickman 
— Maida  Claflin  " — she  said  slowly,  half  aloud — "  the 
daughter  of  my  mother  and  my  father — I  sunk  to  this! 
I  must  be  out  of  my  mind — out  of  my  mind ! "  In 
a  passion — as  when  one  tries  to  convince  an  obstinate 
person  by  sheer  force — she  tore  down  her  hair  from 
the  up-piled  puffs  to  a  shimmering  bronze  shower  about 
her  shoulders  and  to  her  waist,  and  below;  she  ripped 
and  wrenched  the  black  robe  from  her  body;  she  tram- 
pled it  under  foot.  Then  she  threw  herself  into  a 
great  chair,  and  let  the  storm  rage  itself  out  in  sobs 
and  tears. 

Presently  she  heard  a  rustling.  She  lifted  her  head, 
started  up.  It  was  Molly.  "  What  is  it,  Molly?  "  she 
cried,  terrified  by  the  expression  of  the  girl's  face.  "  Is 
she " 

But  Molly  had  fallen  at  her  feet.  "  Forgive  me, 
Mother-Light ! "  she  begged.  "  Forgive  me.  I 

doubted.     I— I " 

131 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

Maida  caught  her  by  the  arms  and  rudely  raised 
her.  "  Don't  do  that,"  she  said  sharply.  "  Don't 
kneel  to  me." 

But  Molly  freed  herself  and  was  again  upon  her 
knees.  "  I  must !  I  must !  "  she  cried.  "  You  don't 
understand.  But  you  will — you  will.  Mother- 
Light  ! " 

Maida  dropped  into  her  chair,  power  and  desire  to 
protest  vanishing.  "  What  do  you  mean,  Molly  ?  "  she 
asked,  dazed. 

"  This  afternoon,"  Molly  went  on  in  a  broken, 
breathless  way,  "  I  came  in  here — and  looked.  They 
told  me  long  ago  that  you —  Oh,  I  thought  I  believed 
them,  and  yet  I  couldn't !  And  I  was  wretched  between 
loving  you  and  believing  and  doubting  and — came  here 
— looked  in  your  dressing  room — and  I  saw  you — when 
you  didn't  know — when  you  were " 

Maida  flamed  scarlet — her  face,  her  bare  neck  and 
shoulders,  even  her  arms.  And  she  felt  as  if  her  skin 
from  head  to  foot  were  afire. 

"  And,"  Molly  went  on,  "  though  I  loved  you — oh, 
nothing,  nothing  could  make  me  stop  loving  you — still, 
it  seemed  so — so —  You  understand  what  I  thought 
and  felt." 

Maida  had  hidden  her  face  in  her  arms.  "  You  were 
right,  Molly,"  she  said  in  a  choked  voice. 

"  No !     No !  I  was  wrong.     I  was  wicked.     I  set  up 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

my  own  wicked  mind  against  The  Light.  They  had 
told  me  the  Mother-Light  was  passing  from  Ann  Banks 
to  you — how  you  had  been  miraculously  found  when  it 
was  revealed  that  the  Mother-Light  would  pass  from 
Ann  Banks.  But  you  seemed  so  lovable  and  human  and 
— and  near,  that  it  was  hard  to  believe " 

"  I'm  not  so  bad  as  you  thought,"  said  Maida,  her 
face  still  hidden.  "  I  almost  convinced  myself." 

"  You  are,  you  are !  "  exclaimed  Molly.  "  This 
afternoon,  I  was  in  the  crowd  on  the  lawn,  my  heart 
full  of  sinful  thoughts.  And  you  came  out  on  the  bal- 
cony. And  suddenly  the  sin  passed  from  me,  and  The 
Light  shone  clear  again.  As  you  stood  there  I  knew, 
just  as  they  all  knew,  that  it  was  the  Mother-Light. 
And  I  fell  on  my  knees.  And  I  saw — yes,  I  saw  there 
with  my  own  eyes — afterward — more  than  fifty  who 
had  come,  sick  and  suffering — and  they  had  all  been 
healed  by  you." 

Maida  sat  erect,  a  far-away  look  in  her  face,  her 
lips  apart,  her  breath  coming  quickly. 

"  One  man  " —  Molly  was  saying — "  he  was  blind. 
And  he  saw  you — and  then  saw  everything.  Oh,  you 
should  have  heard  his  cries  of  happiness  as  he  looked 
round  and  said :  '  The  sky !  The  trees !  The  people ! ' 
And  then  his  eyes  fell  on  his  daughter — she  had  been  a 
baby  when  he  last  saw  her,  and  she  was  now  a  beautiful 
woman.  Oh,  Mother-Light!  You  should  have  heard 

133 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

his  sob  when  he  saw  her  face."  Molly,  sitting  on  the 
floor  at  her  feet,  wept  with  joy  at  the  recollection  of 
the  joy  she  had  seen. 

Maida  looked  dreamily  down  at  her.  "  I — healed — 
them  ?  "  she  said  slowly. 

"  Yes — you — you."  Molly  clasped  her  hands  and 
gazed  up  at  her  adoringly.  "  The  Light  that  lives  in 
you." 

Maida  sighed.  "  I'm  tired  and  confused,"  she  mur- 
mured. Then  she  bent  and  pressed  Molly's  head  against 
hers.  "  Dear  Molly !  "  she  cried. 

Molly  helped  her  undress,  sat  beside  her  bed,  watch- 
ing her  while  she  slept  the  sleep  of  exhaustion.  When 
she  awoke  after  three  hours,  she  did  not  stir  but  lay 
with  her  hands  clasped  behind  her  head,  gazing  up  into 
the  hollow  of  the  canopy.  Presently  she  said  to  Molly : 
"  Will  you  go  and  ask  how  she  is  ?  " 

Molly  soon  returned.  "  She  has  not  recovered  con- 
sciousness— and  will  not,"  she  reported.  "  Her  soul  is 
slowly " 

As  Molly  hesitated,  Maida  without  looking  at  her, 
said:  "  She  is — dying?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Molly,  the  light  of  the  faith  bright 
in  her  eyes.  "  Her  soul  is  casting  aside  its  worn-out 
shell.  It  is  passing  into  you." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Maida,  a  feeling  that 
was  both  dread  and  awe  stealing  over  her. 

134 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  Nor  do  I,"  was  Molly's  answer.  "  We  don't 
understand  any  of  the  great  vital  things — love  and  life 
and  faith.  We  just  accept  them." 

"  We  just  accept  them,"  repeated  Maida.  "  We 
just  accept  them." 


135 


XI 


AT  eleven  she  sent  Molly  to  inquire  for  the  fourth 
time.  The  doctor  is  here,  was  Mr.  Casewell's  message, 
and  there  will  be  nothing  further  to-night.  Molly  went 
away  to  bed;  but  she  waited  on  in  the  silence  and 
aloneness  peopled  with  the  clamors  and  creatures  of 
the  morbid  fancy  of  her  overstrained  nerves.  When, 
toward  one  o'clock,  through  this  unreality  there  came 
the  more  awful  reality  of  a  knock  upon  the  hall  door, 
she  leaped  and  shut  her  teeth  together  hard  to  suppress 
a  cry.  It  was  a  tap  rather  than  a  knock,  so  gentle  was 
it — one  of  those  faint  sounds  that  at  certain  times  echo 
in  the  ear  and  through  the  chambers  of  the  brain  as  the 
loudest  din  would  not.  Panting,  she  stood  near  the 
door.  The  tap  came  again.  "  She  is  dead,"  it  said. 
"  She  is  dead,"  Maida  whispered.  Then  she  called : 
"  Who's  there? "  and  wondered  how  her  voice  could 
sound  so  calm  and  steady. 

"  Casewell,"  was  the  answer. 

She  unlocked  the  door  and,  to  give  herself  more  time 
to  regain  composure,  turned  after  she  had  said  "  Come 
in,"  and  was  on  her  way  to  the  sofa  at  the  opposite 
side  of  the  room  when  he  entered.  She  seated  herself, 

136 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

made  a  pretext  of  arranging  the  loose  coil  of  her  thick, 
heavy  braid,  finally  looked  furtively  at  him.  His  eyes 
were  mournfully  upon  her,  in  them  the  expression  the 
thought  of  death  puts  in  the  eyes  of  the  very  sick  and 
the  very  old  only.  He  bent  his  head  slowly  in  answer 
to  the  question  in  her  glance.  He  seated  himself  in 
front  of  her.  He  was  gazing  straight  ahead,  almost 
in  profile  to  her;  she  was  studying  him.  Rising  from 
his  black,  priestly  gown,  his  magnificent  head  with  its 
fringe  of  snowy  hair  and  its  great  snowy  beard  seemed 
a  marble  bust,  as  changeless,  as  emancipated  from  time, 
almost  as  pallid — a  marble  image  of  some  powerful 
leader  of  the  ancient  days  when  men  reasoned  little, 
believed  much. 

"  You  are  alone? "  he  asked,  after  a  moment. 
"  Molly  isn't  here?  " 

"  She  went  at  half-past  eleven." 

Another  interval  of  silence,  then  he  said :  "  Doctor 
Thorndyke  is  spending  the  night  in  Hinkley's  apart- 
ment." 

"  Did  he  see — her — before  the — the  end  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  his  reply.  "  I  used  my  best  judgment. 
She  was  eighty-nine  years  old.  There  was  nothing  the 
matter  with  her  except  in  the  mind — the  soul.  It  was 
perfectly  plain  that  she  was  beyond  medicine — miracle 
even.  The  stupor  you  saw  did  not  pass."  He  fixed  his 
gaze  upon  her,  waited  until  they  were  looking  each 

137 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

straight  at  the  other ;  then  he  said  slowly  and  solemnly : 
"  That  was  the  final  drawing  of  the  blinds  before  the 
tenant  left  for  the  new  house." 

When  she  was  at  the  Iowa  University,  she  had  seen 
the  professor  of  chemistry  pour  a  few  drops  of  some 
harmless  fluid  into  a  glass  vessel  filled  with  another  fluid, 
equally  harmless  and  tranquil;  instantly  there  had 
arisen  a  seething  so  furious  that  for  the  moment  she 
had  quailed  in  terror.  So,  now,  as  those  few  last  words 
of  Mr.  Casewell's,  said  so  tranquilly,  dropped  upon  the 
apparent  calm  of  her  mind,  there  was  instantly  just 
such  a  tempest  and  frenzy — as  if  the  atoms  of  her  being 
had  become  possessed  each  of  an  independent  will  and 
had  gone  furiously  to  war  with  one  another.  She 
pressed  her  fingers  upon  her  eyelids;  she  was  shaking 
with  a  violent  chill. 

"  The  new  house,"  he  repeated,  and  his  gaze  rested 
with  admiration  and  affection  upon  that  splendid  auburn 
crown  of  hers. 

"Will  Hinkley,"  she  said,  faintly.  "I  think  I 
should  like  to  see  him." 

"  If  you  command,"  he  answered.  "  But  this  inner- 
most secret  of  our  faith  should  be  known  to  the  fewest 
possible — to  no  one  but  myself  and  you." 

"  Me !  "  she  exclaimed,  shrinking.  "  But  that  was 
only  for  the  one  time — only  for  yesterday  afternoon." 

"  For  all  time — for  eternity,"  he  answered.  "  The 
138 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

Light  shines  through  you.  You  are  the  Mother- 
Light."  And  he  stood,  crossed  his  hands  upon  the 
bosom  of  his  black  robe;  and  his  lips  moved  in  the 
formula. 

She  half-started  up  in  protest.  But  a  power  in- 
visible seized  her,  drew  her  back  into  her  seat;  and  the 
voice  that  had  been  so  vague  all  her  years  of  dreaming, 
now  spoke  to  her  clearly — "  You  are  the  Mother- 
Light  ! "  The  words  of  protest  would  not  pass  her 
lips.  "  It  is  so — so — strange,"  she  stammered,  instead. 
"  I  must  have  time.  I  am  not  sure" 

"  No  one  else — not  even  Hinkley — knows  that  she 
is  gone,"  he  continued,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  her. 
"  No  one  else  ever  shall  know  it.  I  told  Doctor  Thorn- 
dyke  that  I  sent  for  him  on  a  matter  of  family  business. 
He  has  asked  to  be  presented  to  you.  I  promised  it — 
if  he  would  stay  over  until  to-morrow  afternoon.  He 
saw  the  Mother-Light  once,  about  seven  years  ago — 
at  a  distance — at  an  apparition  in  The  Hall.  He  wishes 
to  see  her  again  in  circumstances  which  his  skepticism 
regards  as  more  favorable."  And  Mr.  Casewell  smiled, 
if  a  mingling  of  a  gleam  of  triumph  and  a  curl  of  scorn 
can  be  called  a  smile. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  She  was  deciding  her 
"  destiny,"  so  she  thought.  As  if  what  she  would  do 
had  not  been  decided  long,  long  before;  as  if  the  very 
temperament  she  was  born  with,  the  dominance  of  im- 

139 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

agination  over  reason,  of  heart  over  intellect,  had  not 
all  but  determined  the  decision  in  advance.  It  was  a 
typical  so-called  "  crisis  " — one  of  those  solemn-farce 
hearings  before  the  court  that  is  always  "  packed  "  by 
those  twin  arbiters  of  human  destiny,  heredity  and  cir- 
cumstance. 

Too  late  to  go  back,  she  said  to  herself ;  at  least,  I 
must  wait.  To  go  back  now  would  be  to  betray  and 
desert  my  friends.  Clearly  I  must  wait  before  going 
back.  "  Going  back  " — to  what  ?  As  Maida  Hick- 
man,  I  have  no  place  in  the  world.  What  little  iden- 
tity I  used  to  have  is  wiped  out.  And  how  mysteri- 
ously! How  strangely  my  whole  life  has  developed  to 
just  this  point.  If  it  is  not  the  work  of  some  over- 
ruling power  that  I  sit  here,  less  of  an  individuality 
than  her  withered,  abandoned  shell,  then  there  is  no  over- 
ruling power!  If  I  am  not  the  Mother-Light,  if  her 
identity  has  not  passed  to  me,  then  I  do  not  exist !  To 
refuse  to  go  forward  is  to  ruin  them,  is  to  violate  my 
own  highest  instincts  and  aspirations,  is  to  throw  away 
my  chance  to  be  of  use  in  the  world — my  destiny ! 

Mr.  Casewell,  following  the  debate  with  her  expres- 
sion as  his  guide,  now  entered  the  current  of  her 
thought.  "  To  go  forward !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  That 
means  you  enthroned  and  filling  the  world  with  light. 
I  see  millions  released  from  the  anguish  of  disease  into 
the  health  of  The  Light.  I  see  sin  and  pain  banished 

140 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

new  world — and  you,  the  eternal  and  changeless 
Mother-Light." 

He  had  thrown  all  the  energy  of  his  leadership  and 
magnetism  into  these  words.  And — "  I  must  follow 
what  light  I  have,"  said  she.  "  I  must  go  forward. 
There  is  no  other  road  for  me — just  now." 

"  I  knew  The  Light  would  lead  in  its  own  good 
time,"  he  said.  And  his  marks  of  age  and  harassing 
anxiety  faded;  in  their  place  returned  the  old  confident 
content.  "  You  will  change  to  your  own  apartment 
to-night  ?  "  he  suggested,  rather  than  inquired.  "  It  is 
ready  for  you." 

She  thought  a  moment,  her  brain  still  working  under 
the  spell  of  his.  Then  she  went  into  her  dressing-room. 
She  took  from  the  large  closet  the  clothing  she  would  need 
— a  night-dress  of  cream-colored  silk  with  a  dull  gold 
sunburst  embroidered  in  the  lace  collar  on  either  side, 
and  a  dressing-gown  of  crimson  silk  with  cords  of  dull 
gold  braid.  She  put  these  on,  and  crimson  slippers 
with  a  gold  sunburst  worked  upon  either  instep.  With- 
out a  glance  into  the  mirror  that  seemed  to  lean  toward 
her  and  demand  it,  she  returned  to  the  sitting-room. 
"  Let  us  go,"  she  said. 

They  went  by  the  blind  door  to  the  left  of  the  man- 
tel, along  the  passage,  into  the  unused  dressing-room 
in  the  Mother-Light's  apartment.     There  she  stopped 
short.     "  Who  planned  this  house?  "  she  asked. 
10  141 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  We  did,"  he  replied  "—she  and  I."  He  felt  what 
was  in  her  mind,  for  he  went  on :  "  She  ordered  in  these 
passages — and  she  had  not  then  told  me  her  secret — 
indeed,  she  was  only  beginning  to  dread  it.  She  had 
me  make  these  and  many  other  preparations  against 
the  time  when  The  Darkness  might  claim  the  part  of 
her  that  was  its  own." 

He  unlocked  and  partly  opened  the  door  into  the 
bed-room  of  the  Mother-Light.  She  had  never  seen  it ; 
but  she  was  not  noting  its  magnificence;  her  eyes  were 
searching,  searching.  "  In  another  part  of  the  apart- 
ment," he  said,  watchful  of,  sensitive  to,  every  shift  of 
her  thoughts.  "  I  thought  it  best  not  to  bring  her  back 
here  yesterday." 

She  sank  into  a  chair — her  nerves  seemed  to  be  in 
that  unstrung  state  in  which  nothing  makes  an  impres- 
sion upon  them.  He  turned  off  all  the  lights  but  the 
shaded  electric  lamp  on  the  night-stand.  "  You  will 
sleep,"  he  assured  her,  looking  that  serene  tenderness 
which,  more  than  any  other  of  the  fine  elements  in  his 
character,  appealed  to  her  love  and  trust.  "  May  The 
Light  shine  in  you  ever — Amen !  "  And  he  was  with- 
drawing by  the  door  into  the  rose-lighted  salon. 

Her  courage  seemed  to  be  following  him  out  of  the 
room.  "  But  if  I  should — should  need  you,"  she  said, 
keeping  her  nervousness  under  the  surface.  "  I'm  not 
brave — and — it  will  be — lonely." 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  I  shall  be  in  the  next  room  the  rest  of  the  night, 
or  near  it,"  he  answered.  "  If  you  should  wish  any- 
thing, a  ring,  a  call  even —  But,  you  will  sleep." 

Alone,  she  looked  about  her,  studying  her  surround- 
ings minutely.  The  weariness,  the  languor  had  dis- 
appeared; her  eyes,  her  hearing,  all  her  senses  were 
fairly  aching  with  sensitiveness  to  impressions.  She 
seated  herself  near  the  bed,  which  was  heavily  and  richly 
curtained  and  stood  on  a  raised  platform  to  one  side  of 
the  center  of  the  almost  vast  room.  Not  there,  not  any- 
where in  the  room,  could  she  see  or  imagine  the  slightest 
sign  of  a  previous  occupant.  She  felt  as  if  she  had 
merely  been  assigned  to  different  quarters  in  that  pal- 
ace. How  faint  the  impression  human  beings  make 
even  upon  their  most  intimate  surroundings;  a  few 
things  changed  about,  a  few  things  tucked  away,  and 
the  home,  the  bed-room  itself,  is  ready  for  another. 

Besides  the  door  to  the  rose-lighted  salon  and  the  one 
by  which  she  had  entered,  there  were  two  others.  She 
tried  them — both  were  locked.  She  returned  to  her 
chair,  sat  as  wide  awake  as  if  she  had  just  risen  from 
a  long  sleep.  Thoughts  showered  like  drops  of  molten 
metal  upon  her  brain,  making  it  quiver  to  the  uttermost 
end  of  every  nerve.  "  Where  is  she?  "  she  asked  half- 
aloud,  glancing  first  toward  one,  then  toward  the  other 
of  the  two  locked  doors.  "  In  there?  Or,  in  there?  " 
She  turned  her  chair  round  so  that  she  could  lie  back  in 

143 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

it  and  still  see  both  doors — Ann  Banks  might  emerge 
either  in  the  flesh  or  in  the  spirit  and  bring  her  to 
frightful  judgment,  and  her  instinct  had  ever  been  to 
face  danger. 

"  May  The  Light  shine  in  me ! "  she  muttered. 
And  somehow  fear,  which  she  had  felt  creeping,  creep- 
ing across  that  great  room  toward  her,  seemed  to  be 
halted — not  exorcised  but  halted,  to  watch  her  from 
afar. 

She  suffered  acutely  from  the  silence — profound, 
mystery-fraught,  just  such  an  utter  calm  as  might 
well  precede  some  dreadful  act.  Then  there  came  a 
sound,  faint,  far,  the  more  terrible  because  it  was  human. 
She  sat  erect,  her  gaze  leaping  from  door  to  door. 
Again  that  sound — even  fainter,  but  unmistakable.  It 
came,  or  seemed  to  come,  through  the  farthest  door. 
She  stood ;  she  hesitated,  for  an  instant  only.  Hers  was 
the  courage  that  fears  fear  vastly  more  than  it  fears 
danger.  She  advanced  toward  the  door ;  she  noticed  for 
the  first  time  that  the  key  was  in  the  lock.  Now  she 
could  hear  a  voice  within — Mr.  Casewell's? 

She  softly  turned  the  key  and  opened  the  door. 
She  was  looking  into  a  small  ante-room;  beyond, 
through  the  space  between  curtain  and  door  frame,  there 
was  a  bright  light.  She  went  to  the  curtain  and  lis- 
tened. Now  she  could  hear  sobs.  She  widened  the 
space;  she  was  on  the  threshold  of  a  handsomely  fur- 

144 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

nished  dressing-room.  She  looked,  and  stiffened  with 
horror.  Facing  her,  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room, 
standing  in  just  such  a  space  as  that  in  which  she  was 
standing,  was  Ann  Banks,  all  in  white,  gazing  at  her. 
An  instant,  and  she  saw  that  she  was  seeing  not  Ann 
Banks,  but  herself — in  a  long  mirror  against  the  oppo- 
site wall.  Next,  she  saw  Mr.  Casewell  beside  a  couch, 
on  it  a  drape  of  crimson  embroidered  with  dull  gold 
sunbursts;  in  the  drape,  in  the  pall,  the  outlines  of  a 
human  form.  His  clasped  hands  were  pressing  his  long 
white  beard  against  his  chest.  His  powerful  shoul- 
ders were  shaking  and  tears  were  coursing  down  his 
cheeks. 

This  unfathomable  man  mourning  beside  the  body 
of  his  companion  and  friend  of  half  a  century  swept 
away  all  her  other  emotions  in  a  surge  of  sympathy. 
This  homely  human  scene — death  and  grief.  Mr.  Case- 
well  looked  up,  looked  into  the  mirror,  saw  her.  With 
a  wild  exclamation  he  was  upon  his  feet,  was  facing  her, 
shrinking  and  at  the  same  time  stretching  out  his  hands 
imploringly.  "  Ann !  Ann !  "  he  quavered.  "  Speak  to 
me — your  old  comrade  in  the  faith !  " 

"  It  is  I,  Mr.  Casewell,"  said  Maida,  advancing  a 
step.  "  I  could  not  sleep.  I  heard  you.  I  came." 

He  rubbed  his  trembling  hand  over  his  lofty  bald 
brow.  He  stared  uncertainly  at  her,  then  down  at  the 
crimson  pall  shaped  to  the  body  beneath.  "  Yes — yes 

145 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

— of  course,"  he  muttered.  Then  with  sudden  elation, 
"  What  a  test !  The  Cause  is  safe !  " 

Side  by  side  they  stood  looking  down  at  the  dead 
woman.  He  drew  the  pall  from  her  face — it  was  an 
old,  old  face,  but  full  of  power  and  dignity — and  so 
calm!  The  tumult  that  had  been  raging  in  Maida  for 
hours  with  hardly  a  lull  rapidly  stilled.  And  there 
stole  around  her  and  through  her  that  tranquillity  which 
ever  emanates  from  the  face  of  the  dead  to  hush  all  in 
its  presence,  even  the  maddest  passion,  into  peace. 

"  Fifty  years  ago  to-day  we — she  and  I — founded 
the  Church  of  The  Light,"  said  Mr.  Casewell  to  him- 
self rather  than  to  her.  "  She  was  a  wonderful  woman 
then — and  wonderful  almost  to  the  last.  And  so  beau- 
tiful, so  sweet.  She  won  the  hearts  before  she  won  the 
souls.  She  breathed  the  majesty  and  beauty  of  the 
truth.  She  was  what  you  will  be  when  The  Light  fills 
you  as  the  sunshine  fills  the  diamond." 

She  returned  to  the  bedroom  of  the  Mother-Light, 
again  closing  and  locking  the  door  between.  With  all 
the  electric  lamps  full  on,  she  half-reclined  among  the 
cushions  of  the  lounge,  reading  Mr.  Casewell's  latest 
book,  one  she  had  helped  him  with — The  Light  Is  Life ! 
But  the  dead  face,  the  dead  form,  of  Ann  Banks,  which 
had  had  so  soothing  an  effect  upon  her  a  little  while 
before,  now  floated  between  her  and  her  book  like  a  tor- 
menting doubt — more,  a  menace.  After  many  efforts, 

146 


TITE    'MOTH  ER- LIGHT 

after  using  all  the  formulae  of  the  faith  for  exorcising 
the  evil  suggestions  of  The  Darkness,  she  flung  away 
the  book  and  sprang  up.  "I  can't  endure  it  here !  " 
she  cried.  At  that  proclamation  of  surrender  the  in- 
finite silence  seemed  to  concentrate  a  phantom  of  The 
Darkness,  and  she  fled,  it  pursuing — through  the  unused 
dressing-room  and  into  and  down  and  along  the  passage 
to  her  old  sitting-room.  She  pushed  open  the  blind- 
door,  entered  and  was  about  to  close  it  behind  her  when 
her  glance  happened  to  fall  upon  the  floor  in  front  of 
the  fireplace.  She  stood  unable  to  move  or  even  to 
utter  the  fright  and  amazement  that  opened  her  throat 
and  lips. 

The  rug  was  rolled  back  almost  to  the  middle  of 
the  room.  Where  it  had  been  there  yawned  a  large 
square  hole ;  a  trap-door  lay  back,  propped  half-way  by 
a  chair.  She  was  staring  into  a  dimly  lighted  cellar 
where  some  one  was  stirring — some  one,  or  some  thing. 
A  few  seconds,  and  she  could  see  into  the  depth  dis- 
tinctly. A  short  flight  of  skeleton  stairs;  beyond  it, 
the  back,  the  tremendously  broad  and  powerful  back 
of  a  man — his  head  was  beyond  her  view;  his  body 
was  between  her  and  the  small  lantern  which  was  the 
cellar's  only  light.  He  was  in  some  sort  of  long  black 
coat,  its  skirts  gathered  up — a  cassock.  "  Mr.  Case- 
well  ! "  she  said  under  her  breath.  •>', 

The  cellar  was  floored  with  stone;  two  large  slabs 
147 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

were  turned  over  behind  him;  there  were  several  bar- 
rels— she  could  see  five.  Now  he  was  standing  erect, 
was  fumbling  in  the  bosom  of  his  cassock.  Now  he 
was  bending  over  for  the  lantern.  Now  he  had  taken 
a  position  where  she  could  see  his  profile — he  was  hold- 
ing up  the  lantern  to  illuminate  the  page  of  a  book.  It 
looked  like  The  Way  of  The  Light.  Now  he  was 
reading  from  the  book — without  sound,  though  she 
knew  from  the  motions  of  his  great  white  beard  that 
his  lips  were  moving.  The  tears  were  rolling  down 
his  cheeks,  and  book  and  lantern  were  trembling.  At 
his  feet  was  an  oblong  opening  in  the  flagging,  half 
filled  with  earth. 

Suddenly  a  blackness  lifted  from  the  cellar,  swift 
and  noiseless  as  a  spirit.     It  struck  her  full  in  the  face,    t 
a   soft,    vague,   horror-fraught   blow.      She   screamed. 
But  that  terror  instantly   vanished  before  one  which 
froze  her  into  silence  and  rigidity. 

At  her  scream  she  saw  Mr.  Casewell  stiffen  into  a 
statue.  A  second,  and  his  head  seemed  to  be  recover- 
ing the  power  of  motion.  It  moved,  it  turned  slowly, 
as  if  seeking  the  source  of  that  sound.  Now  the 
light  of  the  lantern  was  strong  upon  his  features.  His 
expression  stopped  her  heart.  For,  its  fanatic  ferocity 
made  her  know  he  had  doomed  to  immediate  death  the 
eavesdropper  upon  that  innermost  secret  of  the  Church 
of  The  Light;  he  was  looking  about  that  he  might 

148 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

pounce  with  all  the  fury  of  his  fanaticism  and  all 
the  strength  of  his  mighty  frame — might  pounce,  and 
kill. 

As  she  stared  down,  watching  him,  waiting  for  him 
to  see  her  and  spring,  something  grazed  her  cheek — a 
touch  as  light  and  as  awful  as  a  brush  from  the  wing  of 
a  fiend.  "  Help !  "  she  screamed,  flinging  out  her  arms 
and  staggering  back  into  the  passage.  She  fell  against 
the  wall,  slid  weakly  down  to  the  floor,  lost  conscious- 
ness. 

When  she  came  to,  Mr.  Casewell  was  bending  over 
her,  was  bathing  her  temples  with  a  wet  towel — she  was 
lying  on  a  sofa  in  her  sitting-room;  round  and  round 
the  lighted  chandelier  were  circling  two  bats.  Before 
she  recovered  the  train  of  events,  she  had  smiled  bravely 
up  into  his  tenderly,  anxiously,  reassuring  countenance. 
"  What  a  fright  you  gave  me,"  he  said.  "  You  are 
not  hurt?" 

She  shook  her  head  and  raised  herself  to  a  sitting 
posture. 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  the  bats  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  now  that  I  know  what  they  are,"  she  answered. 
She  looked  nervously  at  him — it  was  impossible  to  believe 
that  the  expression  of  doom  she  had  seen — or  did  she 
only  fancy  it? — could  ever  have  formed  upon  those 
benevolent  features.  But  she  went  on  to  explain,  in  a 
half-apologetic  way :  "  I  grew  uneasy  in — the — the 

149 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

bedroom.  So,  I  thought  I'd  come  down  here.  I  didn't 
know — I  didn't  intend " 

He  patted  her  gently.  "  It  doesn't  matter,"  he 
said.  "  My  fear  was  that  some  one — some  outsider — 
My  nerves,  too,  are  unstrung." 

"  I  will  go  back  up  there — if  you  wish,"  she  went 
on.  "  I  am  all  right  now — and  a  good  deal  ashamed  of 
my  cowardice." 

"  No — stay  here  if  you  prefer,"  was  his  answer. 
"  I  had  almost  finished.  You  are  sure " 

"It's  aU  past,"  she  interrupted.  "Don't — don't 
bother  about  me.  I  feel  that  my  hour  of  trial  is  over." 

He  descended  into  the  cellar.  From  where  she  now 
was,  she  could  not  see  him  at  work,  could  only  see  oc- 
casionally the  hugely  exaggerated  shadow  of  his  head 
and  beard  or  head  and  shoulders  loom  on  the  patch  of 
cellar  wall  that  was  within  her  vision.  But  she  could 
hear — and  imagine.  She  knew  he  had  not  had  time  to 
dig  that  grave.  "  It  must  have  been  dug  when  the 
house  was  built,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  And  it  and  the 
barrels  of  earth  have  been  waiting  there  for  years, 
underneath  me  all  these  months."  And  like  a  cloud  of 
bats  more  horrid  than  those  two  alternately  circling 
and  hanging  from  the  moulding,  there  swept  through 
her  fancy  a  cloud  of  phantoms  that  made  her  nerves 
react  in  alternations  of  fever  and  chill.  And  she  mut- 
tered to  herself,  over  and  over  again :  "  The  wages  of 

150 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

sin  is  death !  What  was  her  sin  ?  What  was  the  sin 
through  which  The  Darkness  betrayed  her  ?  Is  it  in  me, 
also?  " 

When  he  came  up  the  steps  and  stood,  head  and 
shoulders  out  of  the  cellar,  the  phantoms  vanished. 
For,  that  face  shed  serenity  and  faith  upon  her  heart; 
it  was  indeed  the  face  of  the  First  Apostle.  And  out 
of  the  subsiding  storm  of  thought  and  emotion  there 
rose  a  rock  upon  which  she  felt  she  could  stand  secure, 
a  rock  of  faith  in  herself  and  in  her  mission,  a  rock 
founded  upon  her  faith  in  him,  in  his  goodness  and 
strength  and  his  love  for  and  belief  in  her. 

"  It  is  finished,"  he  said  mournfully.  And  he  came 
on  up  to  the  floor  and  closed  the  trap  and  rolled  back 
the  rug. 

"  You  have  left  the  lantern,"  she  suggested,  uncon- 
scious how  that  suggestion  opened  a  passage  into  her 
sub-conscious  self  where  was  the  real  work-shop  of  motive 
and  action. 

"  Yes — I  put  it  where  I  got  it,"  he  replied.  "  I 
have  omitted  nothing.  There  is  not  a  trace  except  the 
earth  on  these  boots.  And  that  will  soon  be  gone." 

She  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  The  faith  is  secure !  " 
she  exclaimed. 

"May  The  Light  shine  ever!"  he  rejoined. 

She  rose.  "  I  think  I  have  vanquished  The  Dark- 
ness. I  will  go  back  to — my  apartment."  And  her 

151 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

nerves  were  steady,  her  mind  free  and  clear.  She  felt 
that  into  the  grave  of  Ann  Banks  had  gone  all  of  her- 
self that  belonged  to  the  past. 

As  he  held  open  the  blind-door  for  her,  he  said: 
"  I  am  glad  that  you  came  here.  It  has  made  me,  and 
perhaps  you,  too,  realize  how  brave  and  strong  are  the 
hands  that  now  hold  the  standard  of  The  Light." 

She  smiled  sadly.  "  I  am  not  strong  yet,"  she  said. 
"  But  I  shall  be.  And  it  makes  me  the  stronger  to  feel 
that  I  have  you  to  lean  upon.  Yes — I  shall  be  strong. 
Good  night.  May  The  Light  shine  in  us  ever !  " 

"  Amen ! "  he  said,  bending  his  head  to  her  rever- 
ently. 

And  the  Mother-Light  went  to  her  apartment,  and 
slept. 


152 


XII 


AFTER  a  cold  bath,  she  stood  at  the  long  mirror 
near  the  pool  arranging  her  bronze  hair  in  the  puffs 
and  waves.  She  felt  like  the  warm  wind  that  was  dan- 
cing in  from  among  the  trees,  through  the  room  and 
out  among  the  trees  and  blossoms  again.  It  was  one 
of  her  days  when  the  joy  of  the  sense  of  life  cleared 
her  sky  to  the  horizon,  and  beyond.  Whenever  had 
she  felt  so  young?  Not  since  childhood;  not  even  then, 
for  childhood  had  not  this  superb  consciousness  of  its 
own  well-being,  this  power  to  linger  upon  and  intensify 
and  delight  in  each  sensation  of  happiness.  It  was  more 
than  hope,  it  was  realization  itself,  that  was  laughing 
in  her  eyes,  glowing  on  her  soft  white  skin,  giving  her 
the  most  exquisite  joy  in  the  litheness  and  freedom  of 
her  movements. 

"  Who  would  care  for  disembodied  immortality  ?  " 
she  thought.  "  It  originated  with  some  one  who  had 
forgotten,  or  had  never  known,  youth  and  health.  To 
live — that  means  to  feel." 

Under  her  spell  of  exhilaration,  the  things  that  had 
been  darkest  became  lightest.  "  How  is  it  possible  to 
doubt?  "  she  said  to  herself.  "  Don't  I  feel  the  miracle 

153 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

at  work  within  me?  Don't  I  see  it  before  my  eyes?  " 
And  the  bright  being  reflected  from  that  mirror  cer- 
tainly had  only  a  remote  resemblance  to  the  harried 
and  haggard  creature  who — long,  long  ago,  and  in 
another  world — fainted  and  fell,  and  died.  "  Yes — 
died ! "  she  repeated.  "  The  very  walls  of  the  house 
have  been  made  over  for  the  new  tenant." 

Now  she  understood  that  former  life  of  hers.  It 
was  clearly  her  apprenticeship  to  this  her  destiny.  She 
recalled  proof  upon  proof — the  abnormal  sensitiveness 
of  her  childhood,  the  passionate  religious  emotions,  the 
sometimes  glorious,  sometimes  hideous,  always  vivid, 
reality  of  the  unseen  world;  her  skepticism  that  had 
yet  never  been  able  to  shake  her  belief  that  The  Mys- 
tery had  a  clue,  and  that  she  must  not  rest  until  she 
found  it;  the  sense  of  aloofness  and  apartness;  the 
strange  drifting  away  of  all  attachments — of  old  asso- 
ciations and  acquaintances,  of  friends  and  relatives,  of 
parents  and  husband,  of  her  child.  All  now  worked 
into  the  making  of  a  consistent  pattern.  The  puzzle 
of  conflicts  internal  and  external,  of  bereavements  and 
sufferings,  was  solved.  The  apparently  disconnected 
lines  and  figures  had  gathered  together  into  unity;  the 
completed  design  read :  "  The  Mother-Light." 

"  The  Light!  "  she  cried,  giddy  with  the  joy  of  it. 
"  The  Light !  It  centers  in  me.  I  am  the  Mother- 
Light  ! "  And  she  went  to  the  side  window,  to  im- 

154 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

merse  herself  there  in  the  ocean  of  sunshine,  to  let  all 
the  nerves  of  all  her  senses  revel  in  that  rapturous  sea — 
for,  light  had  always  had  for  her  perfume  and  voice, 
and  tangibility,  even,  as  well  as  power  to  mount  the  im- 
agination on  the  soaring  glance.  And  as  she  stood 
there,  as  her  eyes  sparkled  and  dreamed  while  her  fancy 
dived  and  darted  in  those  glittering  waves  that  stretched 
away  to  the  shores  of  infinity,  she  did  indeed  look  the 
child  of  light.  Light,  the  essence  of  Life ;  and  she,  the 
essence  of  Life  and  Light! 

At  noon  she  had  dressed,  and  was  entering  the  salon 
of  the  rose-light.  It  was  no  longer  rose-lighted;  the 
great  windows  were  clear  of  those  heavy  curtains  and 
day  was  streaming  in,  softened  only  by  the  lace  close 
against  the  sashes.  With  no  sense  of  strangeness,  she 
seated  herself  on  the  canopied  sofa  of  the  Mother-Light. 
Yesterday,  last  night,  the  events  of  the  early  morning 
hours — she  remembered  them  all  clearly,  but  between 
them  and  her  an  eternity  seemed  to  sweep,  and  across 
it  she  saw  them  as  one  sees  at  the  far  horizon  the  last 
black  edge  of  the  passed  storm. 

She  pressed  the  electric  button  on  the  table  at  her 
elbow,  unconscious  that  she  did  it  with  the  motion  of 
arm  and  hand  she  had  seen  Ann  Banks  make  a  hundred 
times.  Hinkley  hurried  in  from  the  work-room,  and 
his  obvious  amazement  at  this  summons  from  the  bell 
used  only  by  the  Mother-Light  showed  her  that  Mr. 

155 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

Casewell  had  not  forewarned  him,  even  by  hint.  As  his 
gaze  fell  upon  her,  he  stared  wildly,  lowered  his  head 
in  a  reverent  bow.  She  thought  he  had  recognized  her ; 
but  she  saw  she  was  mistaken  when  at  her  salutation — 
"  May  The  Light  shine  in  you,  ever ! " — he  started 
even  more  violently,  and  looked  at  her  astounded. 

"  Maida !  "  he  exclaimed.     "  You!  " 

She  returned  his  gaze  without  a  change  of  counte- 
nance, and  slowly  he  comprehended  that  the  Miracle  of 
the  Transfer  had  been  completed.  After  a  strained 
silence,  she  repeated  with  pointed  emphasis :  "  May  The 
Light  shine  in  you,  ever ! " 

He  had  collected  himself.  "  Amen !  "  he  said,  lower- 
ing his  eyes  and  bending  his  head  respectfully. 

"  There  is  a  doctor  here — a  relative  of  Mr.  Case- 
well's,"  she  began — her  voice  still  formal. 

He  bowed. 

"  Mr.  Casewell  has  asked  me  to  receive  him,"  she 
continued.  "  Will  you  bring  him,  please?  " 

Hinkley  bowed  again.  He  was  about  to  withdraw 
when  he  glanced  toward  the  windows  and  the  inpour- 
ing  daylight.  "  Shall  I  arrange  the  room — as  usual?  " 
he  asked. 

"  I  prefer  it  as  it  is,"  was  her  answer,  after  reflecting. 
"  The  more  light  in  The  Light  hereafter,  the  better." 

Her  tone  was  less  formal,  and  his  face  brightened. 
They  looked  each  at  the  other,  smiled  with  a  reminis- 

156 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

cence  of  the  old  friendliness.  He  left,  and  she  took  up 
the  book  on  the  table — The  Way  of  The  Light.  She 
opened  it  at  random,  read: 

When  the  Mind  comes  each  morning  from  its  bed- 
chamber in  the  Soul,  it  should  find  its  ante-room  thronged 
with  Good  Thoughts,  eager  to  rush  forward  and  greet  it ; 
and  its  every  moment  of  waking  should  be  passed  in  their 
company.  If  they  surround  it,  they  form  a  charmed  circle 
which  Evil  cannot  penetrate. 

She  read  this  again.  It  seemed  a  message  direct  to 
her.  Yes,  she  must  apply  it.  She  must  keep  hei; 
thoughts  full  of  her  work,  of  her  duties  and  responsi- 
bilities. She  must  maintain  the  "  charmed  circle " ; 
then  doubts  and  vanities  and  longings  and  passions  from 
the  world,  from  The  Darkness,  would  never  penetrate 
to  her. 

The  work-room  doors  opened  and  closed.  She  put 
down  the  book  and  slowly  turned  her  head.  Two  men 
were  approaching — in  advance,  Hinkley ;  close  behind 
him,  somewhat  vague  in  the  shadows  of  that  part  of  the 
room,  another — taller,  fairer,  with  gaze  upon  her,  where 
Hinkley's  head  was  bowed.  Now  she  could  see  a  notably 
strong,  erect  young  man,  with  head  and  face  and  poise 
that  suggested  the  edged  energy  and  drive  of  the  axe- 
blade. 

The  face  swam  before  her  eyes  and  Hinkley's  voice 
— "  Doctor  Thorndyke,  Madam  " — seemed  to  come 
11  157 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

from  a  vast  distance.  She  sank  against  the  cushions, 
into  such  small  shadow  as  the  canopy  cast.  The  young 
man,  bowing  respectfully,  regarding  her  with  keen, 
frank,  curious  eyes,  was  he  whom  Maida  Hickman  had 
met  in  Twenty-third  Street. 

But  before  he  could  possibly  have  noted  her  flash 
of  consternation,  it  vanished.  That  reserve  force  which 
flies  to  the  rescue  when  anything  vital  is  imperiled  had 
responded  without  summons.  She  accepted  fate's  chal- 
lenge; she  put  her  safety  to  instant  test.  "  May  The 
Light  shine  in  you,"  she  said  in  her  slow,  sweet  voice. 

At  the  sound  he  started.  She  leaned  forward  into 
the  full  light  and  smiled  graciously  upon  him — the  ris- 
ing moon  could  not  seem  more  tranquil.  "  Won't  you 
be  seated  ? "  she  continued,  indicating  a  chair  near 
her. 

Hinkley,  behind  him,  made  a  gesture  of  protest — 
to  remind  her  that  it  was  not  the  custom  for  the  Mother- 
Light  to  let  strangers  sit  in  her  presence.  She  looked 
steadily  at  Hinkley,  then  significantly  toward  the  door. 
He  hesitated,  his  face  darkened;  he  retreated,  but  only 
to  the  farthest  window. 

"  You  have  been  here  before?  "  she  said  to  Doctor 
Thorndyke. 

The  sound  of  her  voice  brought  again  to  his  face 
that  startled,  searching  look — and  she  liked  it,  even 
while  she  dreaded  it.  "  No — that  is — yes,"  he  stam- 

158 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

mered,  his  strong  handsome  form  uneasy  in  the  chair, 
the  color  showing  in  his  clear  skin. 

From  somewhere — perhaps  from  natural  audacity, 
edged  on  by  her  high  spirits  and  a  first-glance 
strong  physical  attraction  toward  him — came  a  tempta- 
tion to  tease  him  and  to  provoke  fate.  "  Ought  I  to 
remember  you?  "  she  asked.  "  It  seems  to  me  I  have 
seen  you.  Do  you  remember  ?  " 

He  reddened,  looked  at  her  in  astonishment  and  con- 
fusion. Apparently  he  decided  that  he  had  not  heard 
aright,  for  with  an  effort  he  said :  "  My  senses  seem 
to  be  playing  me  strange  tricks  this  morning.  Pardon 
me — I  am  not  sure  I  quite  understood  your  questions." 

"  Did  you  not  say  you  had  been  here  before?  " 

"  Oh !  "  he  exclaimed ;  and  he  seemed  relieved.  "  I 
had  forgotten  what  I  said.  Indeed,  I've  been  in  a  daze 
from  the  moment  I  saw  you — in  the  shadow — and  heard 
your  voice.  Something  in  your  look — when  I  could  not 
see  you  distinctly — and  perhaps  in  the  sound  of  your 
voice,  awakened  an  agitating  memory." 

While  he  was  explaining  thus  in  detail,  partly 
through  embarrassment,  partly  through  an  unconscious 
desire  to  show  her,  and  himself,  that  his  embarrassment 
was  not  "  superstitious "  awe,  she  was  studying  him 
from  the  shelter  of  her  shading  hand.  She  had  studied 
him  once  before.  But  then,  the  darkness  of  the  rainy 
street  enveloped  them  and  she  regarded  him  as  an  envoy 

159 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

of  her  merciless  enemy,  the  world,  come  to  demand 
final,  complete  surrender.  Now,  her  thoughts  were  as 
different  as  her  point  of  view.  Vividly  their  last  meet- 
ing came  back  to  her — misery  tracking  her  like  a  fam- 
ished bloodhound;  at  last,  hope  gone  and  all  courage 
except  the  courage  of  despair  that  nerved  her  to  look 
about  for  some  not  too  cruel  hand  to  give  her  the  finish- 
ing stroke;  how  she  had  pressed  the  knife  upon  this 
man,  had  bade  him  strike;  how  he  had  flung  it  away, 
had  said :  "  Sister !  Let  me  help  you." 

Her  eyes  dimmed ;  her  heart  went  out  to  him.  Yes, 
there  was  at  least  one  incident  of  that  dreadful  dream- 
past  that  she  did  not  wish  to  forget  in  this  beautiful 
dream-present.  Thus,  her  mind,  far  from  hindering, 
spurred  on  the  attraction  toward  him  that  stirred  as 
she  looked.  For,  she  liked  his  manner  and  his  voice, 
his  shoulders  and  the  poise  of  his  head,  the  way  the 
thought  fulness  of  brow  and  eyes  and  the  sweet  expres- 
sion round  his  mouth  redeemed  from  coarseness,  with- 
out subduing,  his  intense  masculine  vitality. 

"  It  was  some  years  ago,"  he  was  saying.  "  But 
I  did  not  have  the  honor  of  being  presented  to  you.  I 
only  saw  you  at — an  apparition,  I  believe  you  call  it 
—in  the  Hall  of  The  Light." 

"You  are  a  nephew  of  Mr.  Casewell?" 

"  A  grandnephew." 

"But  not  of  his  faith?" 
160 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 


"  Not  of  any  faith,"  he  replied.  "  I've  had  little 
time  to  think  of  the  soul  in  the  Hereafter.  I've  been 
so  busy  with  the  body  on  the  thorns  of  the  Here." 

"  That  is  our  occupation,  too,"  said  she.  "  To  re- 
move the  thorns — now." 

"  It  is  curious,  isn't  it,  and  inspiring,  too,"  he  sug- 
gested, "  how,  at  bottom,  all  men,  whether  they  know 
it  or  not,  are  of  the  same  religion.  Each  in  his  own 
way  believes,  and — if  he  is  wise — tries  to  live,  the  great 
gospel — the  Gospel  of  Work." 

"  The  day's  work ! "  she  assented.  "  I  think 
Shakespeare  should  not  have  lauded  sleep,  but  work,  as 
the  balm  and  restorer.  It  is  work  that  gives  to  the 
day  content  and  to  the  night  the  only  sleep  that  sat- 
isfies." 

She  saw  his  covert  hostility  relax  as  she  spoke.  And 
it  was  in  the  tone  of  a  man  to  a  woman  who  attracts 
him  as  a  woman  that  he  presently  said :  "  The  world 
will  be  a  vastly  different  place  when  its  toilers  are 
emancipated  from  the  slavery  of  the  task  into  the  free- 
dom of  work — when  its  idlers  and  potterers  and  para- 
sites learn  that  not  work  but  the  absence  of  it  is  the 
curse  and  the  disgrace." 

"  And  the  women,  too,"  she  said.  "  Or,  do  you  in- 
clude them  in  potterers  and  parasites  ?  " 

"  And  the  women,  too,"  he  answered,  with  a  smile 
which  suggested  that  she  had  guessed  aright. 

161 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

They  were  looking  each  at  the  other  friendlily  as 
they  rapidly  lowered  the  barriers  of  strangeness  and 
reserve.  "  But,"  she  went  on,  "  work  must  have  an  ob- 
ject, and  there  is  the  province  of  religion.  It  gives  the 
two  great  gospels — the  gospel  of  work  and  the  gospel 
of  hope.  Of  what  value  is  either  without  the  other?  " 

"  True,"  he  admitted,  at  once  somewhat  on  his  guard 
again.  "  As  men  lose  faith  in  the  Hereafter  they  go 
to  their  work  with  heavier  and  heavier  hearts.  One 
must  work  hard  and  not  lift  his  eyes,  if  he  is  to  escape 
the  paralyzing  sense  of  futility.  But — "  He  hesi- 
tated to  adventure  the  hazardous  ground. 

"  But?  "  she  encouraged. 

"  As  to  religion,  how  can  we  If  now?  " 

She  smiled.  "  You  are  a  man  of  science,"  she  said. 
"  All  your  sciences — your  physics  and  mathematics — 
rest  upon  propositions  that  are  impossible,  are  even 
self-contradictory,  do  they  not?  " 

He  admitted  that  it  was  so — admitted  with  an  ap- 
preciative smile  for  her  ingenuity. 

"  Your  expression  tells  me  that  you  guess  what  I 
am  about  to  say,"  she  continued.  "  You  assume  those 
impossible  propositions.  You  base  all  your  scientific 
structure  upon  them.  Yet  for  the  foundations  of  the 
hope  that  alone  makes  life  explainable  as  other  than  an 
absurdity,  you  demand  what  you  call  certainty.  You 
demand  for  faith  foundations  which  you  cannot  give 

162 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

science — you  scientists  who  can't  prove  that  two  and  two 
are  four  without  assuming  first  a  hundred  impossible 
ultimate  propositions." 

She  was  smiling;  he  was  laughing — and  thinking, 
and  admiring. 

"  We,"  she  went  on,  "  prove  immortality  as  you 
prove  that  the  sum  of  all  the  angles  of  a  triangle  is 
equal  to  two  right  angles — by  proving  that  every  other 
supposition  is  absurd." 

"  But,"  he  objected,  "  there  is  proof  positive  that 
death  is  the  end  of  life — of  life  as  an  identity.  Open 
any  grave.  Watch  at  any  death-bed." 

"  Oh — death !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  But  ours  is  not  a 
religion  of  death — of  a  life  hereafter.  The  Light  is 
not  a  promise  but  a  fulfilment.  Its  kingdom  is  of  this 
world — the  world  everlasting.  It  is  the  faith  of  the 
true  religion  and  the  true  science." 

He  was  silent. 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  said,  "  that  you  are  investigating 
our  faith." 

He  showed  surprise  with  a  faint  gleam  of  satire  in 
it.  "  I  confess  I — I  am  not  conscious  of  any  desire  to 
— to  make  a  careful  study  of  any  faith." 

"  Then  why  are  you  here  ?  "  she  inquired. 

He  was  plainly  disconcerted. 

"  Surely  not  out  of  idle  curiosity?  A  busy  man, 
like  you ! " 

163 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

He  reddened  under  this  direct  attack,  the  keener  for 
its  good  humor.  "  It  is  so,  nevertheless,"  he  said,  at 
bay.  "  I  wished  to  see — Your  religion  hinges  on  the 
immortality,  the  physical  immortality  of — of  yourself. 
I  saw  you  some  years  ago.  I  wished  to  see  you  again." 

"  And  now  that  you  have  seen  ?  "  Her  eyes  were 
bright  with  amusement. 

"  Candidly,  I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  was  his 
answer  after  a  pause,  and  a  long,  steady,  searching 
look  at  her  which  she  withstood  tranquilly. 

"  But  what  will  you  say  when  you  go  back  to  your 
men  of  science  ?  " 

His  glance  shifted.  "  I  can  only  tell  them  that  you 
are  as  your  followers  allege,  and  that  my  granduncle 
is  as  he  was  thirty  years  ago — when  I  first  remember 
him  distinctly — and  that  my  cousin,  Miss  Ransome, 
looks  now  as  she  did  when  I  used  to  call  on  her  at  Miss 
Wilkinson's  School  in  Fifth  Avenue — twelve  years  ago." 

"  And  there  you  will  stop !  And  that  is  as  far  as 
your  passion  for  thorn-destroying  will  carry  you !  You 
will  go  on  encouraging  your  fellow  scientists  to  try  to 
hide  the  truth  from  mankind  and  to  try  to  wrest  our 
truth  from  us." 

"  It  is  unfair  to  corner  me,"  he  pleaded.  "  I  can- 
not argue  here  or — "  almost  inaudibly — "  with  you." 

"Why  not?"  She  opened  her  eyes  wide.  "We 
are  not  sensitive  about  our  faith." 

164 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  Then,  too,  your  point  of  view  and  ours  radically 
differ.  To  you,  our  science  seems  folly.  To  us,  your 
disdain  of  science  seems — irrational." 

"  And  so  it  is,"  she  astonished  him  by  admitting. 
"  Irrational — wholly  irrational." 

"  Then  you  do  not  try  to  convince  reason  ?  " 

"  No — no — no,"  she  said  almost  passionately. 
"  We  appeal  to  the  supreme  authority." 

"  But  is  not  reason  the  supreme  authority  ?  " 

"  You  say  that.  You  fancy  you  believe  it,"  she 
answered.  "  But  what  do  you  really  believe?  What 
'  must '  do  you  obey  ?  " 

"  Reason's,  I  hope." 

She  laughed  a  little.  "  I  venture  to  believe  that 
you  are  better  than  your  creed,"  she  said.  "  Reason 
has  produced  the  world  as  it  is,  a  world  in  revolt  against 
the  supreme  authority — Love !  It  hasn't  been  your  Sci- 
ence, coldly  seeking  to  destroy  man's  ideals,  that  keeps 
alive  the  little  good  there  is.  That  good  has  come 
through  Love,  and  its  instincts.  Your  Science,  your 
devil-god  Science,  always  putting  fresh  weapons  in  the 
hands  of  the  few  to  enslave  the  many.  Your  Science 
has  given  the  club,  the  spear,  the  sword,  the  gun,  and 
now  the  machine — the  machine  to  which  the  few  bind 
the  many  for  sordid,  withering  toil.  Always  some  new 
weapons  for  tyranny!  Whenever  Love  has  been  about 
to  free  mankind,  in  has  stepped  Science  to  prevent  it. 

165 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

For  centuries  your  Science's  strongest  weapon  was 
theology,  which  it  used  to  pervert  a  gospel  of  love  into  a 
gospel  of  hate.  And  now  that  that  weapon  grows  blunt 
and  rusty,  your  Science  has  taken  up  philosophy  and  is 
laboring  to  convince  the  strong  that  the  material  is  the 
all,  that  the  life  fullest  of  selfish  pleasures  is  the  wisest 
life.  Your  Science  teaches  the  few  favored  with  in- 
tellect how  to  make  slaves  of  the  many,  and  tells  them 
that  to  do  so  is  right !  " 

"  Because  men  abuse — "  he  began. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  say  Science  hasn't  a  place,"  she  went 
on,  "  but  not  the  place  of  master.  It  is  an  insolent  ser- 
vant seeking  to  seize  the  household  of  humanity  and  re- 
duce it  to  kitchen-level.  It  is  Caliban  at  the  throat  of 
Prospero.  But — in  spite  of  your  Science,  Love  is  tri- 
umphing !  It  is  Love  that  has  implanted  the  instinct  for 
the  brotherhood  of  man,  Love  that  bids  the  clever  for- 
bear from  enslaving  the  dull."  She  stood,  and  a  radi- 
ance that  seemed  to  him  divine  streamed  from  all  her 
beauty.  "  Love  is  supreme !  Love  is  The  Light !  " 

He  had  risen  also.  Hinkley,  at  the  distant  window, 
had  turned  toward  them,  was  regarding  her  with  the 
expression  of  a  devotee  at  the  shrine.  Thorndyke  broke 
the  silence.  "  Is  that  your  religion  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice  and  in  a  tone  that  made  Hinkley  scowl  and  blaze 
sullenly  at  him.  "  If  it  is,  then  it  is  mine  also.  Only, 
I  never  thought  it  out  before." 

166 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

But  she  seemed  not  to  hear.  The  fire  was  dying 
from  her  face,  and  she  sank  among  the  cushions  again. 
She  looked  about  her  like  one  awakening  from  a  dream. 
She  only  vaguely  knew  what  she  had  been  saying. 
Some  power  had  seized  her,  had  used  her  lips  to  utter 
its  thoughts  and  words,  and  now  it  had  released  her. 
"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  had  never  before  realized  it,"  he  said.  "  True, 
there  is  no  reason  why  the  strong  should  spare  the  weak. 
There's  no  restraint  but  this  irrational  law  of  Love — 
an  instinct  which  Reason  analyzes  away." 

"  Reason  has  explained  away  the  religions  that  ap- 
pealed to  fear — they  never  held  any  but  the  cowardly  in 
check.  And  now  the  issue  is  squarely  joined — either 
Reason  will  destroy  Love,  or  Love  will  reduce  Reason 
to  a  docile  and  useful  servant."  She  irradiated  him 
with  her  sudden  smile.  "  On  which  side  do  you  fight?  " 

"  I  thank  you,  I  thank  you,"  he  said.  "  I  came 
here — I'm  ashamed  to  confess  what  I  thought.  Your 
religion  seemed  to  me  only  one  more  of  the  innumerable 
attempts  to  work  upon  the  superstitious  element  in  man. 
And " 

"  So  it  is,"  she  interrupted.  "  Our  whole  appeal 
is  to  the  superstition  in  man — in  me,  in  you,  in  all  of 
us.  To  enlighten  it,  perhaps — but  that  is  not  impor- 
tant. To  use  it — that  is  the  vital  point.  It's  there. 
It  can't  be  destroyed.  Call  it  a  weed,  a  poisonous  weed, 

167 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

if  you  will.  But  it's  a  weed  that  contains  the  only 
medicine  that  will  heal  the  soul.  Ours  is  simply  another 
of  the  countless  efforts  to  distil  that  elixir — that  love- 
potion." 

"  I  do  not  give  in  my  allegiance  to  your  faith,"  he 
began,  then  interrupted  himself  with  a  smile.  "  That 
sounds  as  if  I  regarded  my  personal  decision  or  opinion 
as  of  importance.  But,  believe  me,  I  know  it  is  im- 
portant only  to  myself.  I  only  speak  my  thoughts 
because  you've  done  me  the  honor  to  invite  it.  So,  I 
say  I  can't  believe  your  religion.  There  are  elements 
— appeals  to  what  I  regard  as  ignorance,  which — do 
not  attract  me." 

"  We  make  an  instrument  with  which  to  convey  truth 
to  the  ignorant,  weak,  human  race — to  men  in  the  mass," 
she  said  with  good-humored  satire,  "  and  you  reject  the 
truth  because  you  do  not  like  the  instrument  that  enables 
others  to  receive  it.  You  forget  that  spiritual  sight  is 
as  varying  and  uncertain  as  physical  sight." 

"  Then  you  don't  insist  that  all  who  believe  can  live 
forever  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  We  insist  only  upon  The  Light — The  Light,  shin- 
ing with  different  intensity  and  power  according  to  the 
soul  that  it  shines  on.  But " — she  was  smiling  with 
raillery — "  you  profess  to  believe  in  development,  and 
you  are  of  a  profession  that  daily  uses,  as  its  potent 
remedy,  the  power  of  the  mind  to  ease  the  body.  Yet 

168 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

you  scoff  at  the  idea  that  a  mind  could  be  so  developed 
that  it  could  banish  death  and  disease  and  age  from  its 
body!" 

"  I  do  not  scoff,"  he  said — and  again  his  voice  made 
Hinkley  wince  and  glower.  "  I  came  to  scoff — I  have 
been  compelled  to — to  adore." 

She  caught  her  breath  and  that  exuberant  vitality 
of  hers  thrilled  with  a  new  intensity.  "  I  have  only 
shown  you  what  was  already,  unconsciously,  the  law  of 
your  life."  She  did  not  realize  until  she  had  spoken 
the  words  how  they  sounded  with  the  link  of  Maida  Hick- 
man's  experience  with  him  missing.  She  flushed, 
glanced  at  Hinkley  hovering  like  a  bird  of  ill  omen. 
But  she  could  not  recall  them.  "  May  The  Light  shine 
in  you — ever !  "  she  added,  with  the  dignity  and  solem- 
nity of  the  Mother-Light.  She  took  the  copy  of  The 
Way  of  The  Light  from  her  table  and  held  it  out  to  him. 

"  Your  book,"  he  said. 

Her  book ! — shame  flung  its  scarlet  over  her  cheeks 
and  brow.  "  Not  my  book,"  she  answered,  casting  a 
furtive  glance  at  Hinkley  and  noting  his  sudden  change 
from  gloom  to  terror.  "  The  book  of  The  Light — our 
book,"  she  went  on.  "  I  give  it  to  you  on  one  condition." 

**  I  accept,"  he  said. 

"  That  you  will  read  it  three  times — without  the 
spectacles  of  cynicism." 

"  Them  I  never  had,"  he  replied.  "  And — I  believe 
169 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

in  The  Light  already,  The  Light  as  I  see  it  in  you." 
He  had  forgotten  Hinkley,  standing  out  of  his  sight. 
He  had  forgotten  everything  but  the  woman  with  a  soul 
like  her  voice,  with  a  voice  like  her  face,  with  a  face  like 
'haunting  music  heard  in  a  dream.  "  May  /  venture  to 
make  a  condition  ?  " 

Her  eyes  asked  what  it  was  and  promised  to  grant  it. 

"  That  you  will  write  in  the  book." 

She  took  it  and  moved  toward  the  desk  at  the  east 
window.  As  he  walked  behind  her,  she  felt  his  gaze 
upon  her.  His  eyes,  the  faint  flush  in  his  cheeks,  showed 
how  acutely  sensitive  he  was  to  the  graceful  motion  of 
her  form,  adorned,  not  hidden,  by  those  draperies  of 
gauzy  black  and  dull  gold.  And  well  they  set  off  the 
splendor  of  that  casque  of  shining,  living  bronze  and 
the  healthful  pallor  of  her  magnetic  skin  a-glow  with  the 
sense  of  him.  She  seated  herself,  wrote  upon  the  fly- 
leaf of  the  book  in  the  large  angular  hand  in  which  all 
the  documents  and  signatures  of  the  Mother-Light  were 
written  or  engraved :  "  The  Law  of  The  Light  is  Love." 

He  was  standing  beside  her  as  she  blotted  this. 
Hinkley,  greenish  white  above  the  black  of  his  beard, 
came  forward,  caught  Thorndyke's  eye  with  a  glance 
which  plainly  meant  that  it  was  time  to  go.  "  Thank 
you  again,"  said  Thorndyke,  taking  the  book  from  the 
desk.  His  manner  was  formal  to  coldness  in  the  effort 
to  hide  his  struggle  against  emotions  that  strove  to  defy 

170 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

common-sense  and  conventionality.  Her  elbow  was  on 
the  table  and  her  long  white  fingers,  rosy  at  the  tips, 
were  against  her  cheek.  Her  eyes  were  swimming  and 
glistening ;  she  was  not  looking  at  him  but  was  a-quiver 
with  the  sense  of  his  nearness. 

"  You  must  let  me  know  what  you  think  of  our 
Book,"  she  said,  and  the  new  music  in  her  voice  grated 
along  Hinkley's  nerves. 

Again  Thorndyke  forgot  Hinkley.  "  If  I  dare," 
he  answered,  and  his  tone  made  his  double  meaning 
clear. 

Both  he  and  she  winced  as  Hinkley's  harsh  voice 
came  with  an  almost  sneering,  "  It  would  indeed  call 
for  all  Doctor  Thorndyke's  courage  to  proclaim  it,  if 
his  eyes  should  be  opened  to  The  Light.  Many  brave 
men  have  fled  from  ridicule,  and  his  fellow-doctors  would 
not  spare  him." 

"  Perhaps  The  Light,  when  it  convinced  me,  would 
give  me  the  courage  to  be  frank,"  replied  Thorndyke. 

She  rose,  and  he  bowed  no  less  reverently  than  Hink- 
ley as  she  lifted  her  hand  and  said :  "  May  The  Light 
shine  in  you." 

Long  after  the  closing  doors  hid  him,  she  could  still 
see  him,  could  still  feel  his  presence.  She  had  not  heard 
Hinkley's  interrupting  words ;  but  his  voice  had  cut  into 
her  dreaming  like  a  finger  thrust  into  a  bubble.  Smart- 

171 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

ing  from  the  shock,  as  an  awakened  sleeper  resents  the 
noisy  alarm  bell,  she  stood  at  the  window,  gazing  re- 
sentfully at  the  great  crimson  and  gold  banner  burning 
against  the  sky  above  the  Hall  of  Light.  She  had  a 
defiant  sense  that  somehow  her  more  than  royal  pre- 
rogatives as  Mother-Light  had  been  infringed;  and 
her  resentment  turned  not  against  Hinkley  personally 
but  against  all  whom  and  which  he,  as  an  apostle  of 
the  faith,  represented.  "  They  must  leave  me  free ! " 
she  said  to  herself.  "  I  must  be  free !  " 

So  preoccupied  was  she  that  she  did  not  know  Hink- 
ley had  re-entered  until  he  was  almost  at  her  side.  She 
turned  to  find  his  strange  eyes  like  embers  in  a  powder 
magazine.  "  Had  you  ever  seen  Doctor  Thorndyke 
before?  "  he  demanded,  between  his  teeth. 

She  paled,  but  not  with  fear.  The  gleam  of  her 
eyes  and  the  curve  of  her  brows  started  up  fear  in  him 
to  struggle  with  his  jealous  rage.  "  I  did  not  ring," 
she  said  in  a  voice  that  was  dangerously  calm. 

He  lowered  his  gaze,  then  his  head. 

"  It  is  forbidden,  I  believe,  to  enter  this  salon  with- 
out a  summons — or  to  speak  before  I  give  the  saluta- 
tion. You  forget " 

"  Did  you  not  forget,  Mother-Light?  "  he  muttered. 
And  he  performed  the  ceremonial  of  the  name. 

In  that  solemn  pause  the  Power  within  made  itself 
heard  and  felt.  Her  anger  vanished  in  spite  of  herself. 

172 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

She  had  forgotten.  Like  the  Israelites  worshiping  the 
golden  calf  with  Sinai  thundering  above  their  heads 
and  flashing  before  their  eyes,  she  had  defied  the  spiritual 
and  had  yielded  to  the  cravings  of  the  material.  Her 
impulse  was  to  confess  it,  but  pride  and  the  spectacle  of 
Hinkley's  almost  trembling  humility  restrained  her. 
Instead,  she  took  the  course  of  self -protection  and  said 
with  a  gentleness  that  softened  the  sting :  "  Gratitude 
puts  me  at  your  mercy,  and  you  take  advantage  of  it." 

"  I  deserved  that,"  he  said,  the  red  flooding  his  face. 
"  Pardon  me — and  forgive  me." 

Self-reproach  for  having  turned  his  just  rebuke 
into  a  seeming  of  cowardly  intrusion  impelled  her  to 
put  out  her  hand.  But  she  did  not  dare — she  must  at 
any  cost  guard  her  future  against  such  supervisions. 
"  As  the  Mother-Light,"  she  said,  "  I  pardon  you.  But 
there  can  be  no  question  of  forgiveness  between  us." 
And  she  gave  him  the  benediction.  He  bowed  with  the 
deepest  humility  and  left  her. 

Her  eyes  went  back  to  the  bright  banner.  Now  she 
wondered  that  she  had  let  Thorndyke  make  such  an 
overwhelming  impression  upon  her.  "  I  will  not  see 
him  again,"  she  thought,  for,  even  in  her  changed  mood, 
the  vividness  of  her  memory  of  him,  of  every  detail  of 
his  face  and  manner  and  movements,  warned  her  that 
she  should  not  trust  herself. 

13  173 


XIII 

LATE  that  afternoon  the  strain  of  the  previous  day 
and  night  suddenly  showed  itself.  She  and  Molly  were 
walking  in  the  garden  of  the  west  wing — she  was 
swathed  in  a  long  crimson  wrap  that  harmonized  with 
and  emphasized  the  strangeness  of  her  head-dress  and 
of  her  new  beauty ;  and  Molly  was  keeping  a  little  apart 
from  her  instead  of  their  having  each  an  arm  round 
the  other's  waist,  as  in  their  last  walk  together,  less 
than  two  days  before;  and  Molly's  manner  and,  when- 
ever she  looked  up  at  the  Mother-Light,  her  glance, 
had  a  certain  deference  in  them,  a  recognition  of  the 
Miracle  of  the  Transfer  that  was  without  effort  on 
her  part  and  that  constrained  the  Mother-Light  even 
in  thought  as  the  etiquette  of  the  court  constrains  the 
King. 

Just  as  they  were  beginning  to  talk  again  with 
freedom,  an  enormous  weariness  abruptly  halted  her, 
body  and  mind — the  imperious  demand  of  health  for 
rest.  They  returned  and  at  the  door  of  her  bedroom 
she  sent  Molly  away  with,  "  No  one  is  to  disturb  me,  not 
even  if  I  don't  ring  for  days.  It  seems  to  me  I  ought 
to  have  a  grave  and  an  eternity  properly  to  rest." 

174 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

She  dropped  her  clothing  in  a  careless  heap  beside 
the  bed.  With  a  sigh  of  delight  she  felt  the  coolness 
of  the  fresh  white  silk  night-gown  ripple  over  her  skin, 
rousing  her  nerves  to  one  last  keen  sensation.  She  flung 
wide  her  windows,  sank  into  the  bed  and  drew  the  cur- 
tains that  shut  off  the  direct  light.  She  was  almost 
instantly  asleep,  and  when  she  awoke  it  was  only  that 
she  might  enjoy  the  luxury  of  sinking  softly  to  sleep 
again.  "  It  doesn't  matter  what  hour  it  is,"  she 
thought,  comfortably,  "  or  how  long  I've  been  sleeping." 

When  she  awoke  again,  it  was  daylight.  She  re- 
membered that  it  had  been  dark  when  she  was  last  awake. 
Her  head  felt  as  if  a  weight  were  pressing  upon  it.  She 
put  up  her  hands,  found,  with  a  momentary  sensation 
of  surprise,  the  puffs  and  waves  of  the  crown  of  the 
Mother-Light.  In  her  eagerness  for  rest  she  had  not 
paused  to  take  down  her  hair.  She  sat  up  in  bed  and 
shook  free  the  thick  tresses  of  bronze.  But  she  was  too 
languid  to  braid  them.  Leaving  pins  and  combs  on  the 
covers  where  she  dropped  them,  she  fell  back  and 
stretched  herself  out;  and,  lulled  by  softness  and  per- 
fume and  health  and  youth,  she  wandered  away  into  a 
sleep  that  was  profound  yet  deliciously  conscious  of  its 
own  delight.  She  dreamed  she  was  dreaming  with  her 
head  on  a  pillow  of  moss  in  a  wonderful  grove  among  the 
wild  flowers  of  spring ;  and  the  ticking  of  the  clock  was 
the  tinkle  of  a  brook. 

175 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

At  her  third  awakening  she  knew  it  was  late  in  the 
afternoon.  And  interest  in  the  world  beyond  her  bed 
and  its  dreams  was  beginning  to  revive  in  her.  But 
she  lay  nearly  an  hour  longer,  motionless,  utterly  con- 
tented, her  unnoting  gaze  upon  the  hollow  of  the  can- 
opy, her  mind  ranging  the  whole  of  her  life  as  one 
skims  the  pages  of  a  read  romance — skipping  rapidly 
here,  pausing  there  only  to  hasten  on,  omitting  this  or 
that  dull  or  disagreeable  passage  altogether.  Her 
thoughts  wandered  at  last  to  Thorndyke,  to  circle, 
hover,  alight,  then  rise  and  circle,  hover  and  alight 
again.  But  his  reality  to  her  was  drifting — as  all  real- 
ities beyond  the  moment  that  is  were  apt  to  drift — into 
the  mystical  haze  which  ever  enveloped  her  mind  and 
made  life  to  her  a  succession  of  dreams  within  dreams. 

It  was  five  in  the  afternoon  when  she  raised  herself 
on  her  elbow,  drew  back  the  curtain  and  looked  out  into 
the  room.  The  first  object  on  which  her  glance  lit  was 
the  black  and  gold  gown  of  the  Mother-Light  cast  upon 
the  floor  under  the  heap  of  linen  and  lace.  She  sprang 
from  the  bed  and  darted  into  the  bathroom.  And  in 
three-quarters  of  an  hour — half  of  it  necessarily  spent 
in  making  the  elaborate  arrangement  of  her  hair — she 
was  in  the  salon,  was  pressing  the  summons  bell. 

Hinkley  responded,  careful  to  keep  his  head  bent 
until  he  had  received  the  salutation.  "  Mr.  Casewell," 
he  then  said,  "  is  busy  with  the  departing  delegates. 

176 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

He  asked  me  to  give  you  these,  if  you  should  ring." 
And  he  laid  upon  her  table  a  mass  of  newspaper  clip- 
pings. 

"  Please  send  Molly  with  something  to  eat,  Will," 
she  said. 

He  gave  her  a  look  of  gratitude.  "  May  I  bring 
it  myself?  "  he  asked,  snatching  at  the  first  small  chance 
to  show  that  he  was  appreciating  her  reward  for  his 
penitence. 

"  Do,"  she  said,  with  her  old  friendly  smile.  "  What 
are  these?  "  And  she  took  up  the  topmost  cutting. 

"  The  newspapers  haven't  done  you  justice,"  he  re- 
plied. "  Many  of  them  are  not  even  courteous.  Jour- 
nalism is  the  servant  of  The  Darkness.  Still,  they 
couldn't  hide  the  truth,  the  miraculous  truth." 

She  looked  at  him  vaguely.  Then  she  noted  the 
headlines.  As  he  was  withdrawing,  she  had  gathered  a 
handful  of  the  clippings,  was  glancing  from  one  to 
another  with  dilating  eyes.  Great  headlines,  profuse 
illustrations,  column  upon  column  of  description  of  the 
astounding  acceptance  of  the  challenge  to  the  Church  of 
The  Light — how  the  Mother-Light  had  shown  herself 
in  full  day,  had  faced  not  only  her  followers  but  the 
impartial  eyes  of  unbelievers,  re-enforced  by  opera  and 
field  glasses.  The  New  York  and  Philadelphia  papers 
had  given  more  than  a  page  to  miraculous  cures  alone — • 
ninety-seven  persons  restored  to  health  wholly  or  in  part, 

177 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

When  Hinkley  returned,  she  was  deep  in  the  most 
detailed  of  the  accounts  of  cures — careful  histories  and 
descriptions  of,  and  interviews  with,  the  blind  who  were 
now  seeing,  the  deaf  who  were  now  hearing,  the  lame 
who  had  thrown  crutches  away.  She  looked  up  at  him, 
and  in  her  eyes  was  that  same  bright  blaze  of  fanaticism 
which  had  once  disquieted  her  whenever  she  saw  it  in  him 
or  Mr.  Casewell  or  Molly.  "  And  they  dare  to  put  for- 
ward the  old,  feeble  explanation ! "  she  exclaimed. 
"  The  doctors  sneering  and  saying  that  in  some  cases 
the  disease  was  hysteria  and  in  others  the  cure." 

"  They've  been  saying  that  for  centuries,"  he  replied. 
"  What  else  can  they  say  ?  It's  easy  to  sneer.  It 
would  take  some  mental  effort  to  go  into  the  mystery 
of  miracle  cures.  It  might  abase  their  vanity  of  reason 
if  they  were  to  be  forced  to  see  how  gloriously  The 
Light  has  manifested  itself  whenever  man,  however  im- 
perfectly, has  sought  it.  But,  now  The  Light  is  shin- 
ing !  "  And  he  looked  his  adoration. 

She  was  on  her  knees  before  herself,  was  worship- 
ing this  spirit  from  the  unknown  that  awed  her  far 
more  profoundly  now,  when  it  was  living  within  her, 
than  it  had  when  she  used  to  see  it  in  others. 

"  The  Light  has  been  a  torch.  It  has  become  a  con- 
flagration ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  It  will  fire  the  whole 
world ! " 

"  We  shall  drive  out  cruelty  and  pain  and  death. 
178 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

We  shall  restore  the  age  of  faith.  Oh,  WiU !  Will !  Not 
even  you  who  had  belief  in  me  when  I  hadn't  in  myself — 
not  even  you  can  imagine  the  wonder  that  is  about  to 
come  to  pass." 

His  enthusiasm  mounted  skyward  upon  hers,  as  hers 
had  upon  his.  "  The  modern  world,"  he  cried,  "  has 
been  waiting  for  a  soul  whose  fire  would  thaw  its  heart 
frozen  in  the  ice  of  Reason,  and  would  quicken  faith 
and  conscience  again.  You'll  drive  before  you  like  chaff 
before  the  wind  these  *  scientists '  who  would  chain  the 
soul  of  man  to  the  dirt." 

Just  then  Mr.  Casewell  appeared.  His  very  beard, 
huge  and  white,  seemed  to  irradiate  joy.  When  she 
had  given  him  the  salutation,  he  burst  forth. 
"  Here  " — and  he  held  up  his  hands  full  of  papers — 
"  are  telegrams  and  cablegrams.  And  Floycroft  tells 
me  he  has,  from  the  morning's  mail  alone,  two  thousand 
seven  hundred  letters,  asking  for  your  prayers,  for 
your  healing,  for  books  about  The  Light." 

The  Mother-Light  clasped  her  hands  and  struggled 
to  keep  within  bounds  the  dizzying  emotions  which  had 
been  loosed  within  her.  "  The  Light  is  shining ! "  she 
murmured. 

"  The  revolution  in  public  opinion ! "  Mr.  Casewell 
went  on.  "  Those  wise  materialists  have  been  chattering 
about  the  religious  instinct  being  dead,  killed  by  their 
'  scientific  enlightenment.'  These  scientists !  These 

179 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

will-o'-the-wisps  that  lure  man  into  the  rotten  ooze  of 
the  swamp  of  despair  which  breeds  them!  These  stiff- 
necked,  vain  alleged  reasoners  have  had  possession  of 
the  printing-press,  and  so,  they  have  been  able  to  wield 
the  lash  of  ridicule  and  to  force  mankind  at  least  to 
pretend  assent  to  their  reasonings.  But,  now,  behold 
the  soul  of  man  is  once  more  lifting  up !  The  petty 
cruel  games  of  seekers  after  power  and  pelf  are  shrink- 
ing to  their  true  proportions.  Once  more  it  is  not  man 
the  economic  unit  to  be  exploited,  or  man  the  political 
unit  to  be  voted.  It  is  man  the  Immortal  Soul,  the  Ray 
of  The  Light  that  streams  from  the  Great  All ! " 

And  he  sank  to  his  knees  before  her.  Hinkley, 
swept  away  by  the  First  Apostle's  frenzy  of  enthu- 
siasm, was  upon  his  knees  also.  "  The  Mother-Light !  " 
they  cried.  "  The  Mother-Light !  " 

She  stood  with  an  expression  of  exaltation  that  made 
her  beauty  superhuman.  She  stretched  out  her  arms 
over  them.  Then,  as  they  rose,  she  sank  back  among 
her  cushions  and  covered  her  face.  "  No — no !  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  Not  to  me !  I  understand  it  isn't  I  you 
worship.  The  others — the  Church — when  they  kneel, 
they  see  in  me  the  symbol  of  their  faith.  But  you  who 
know  me,  you  must  not  kneel." 

"  You  are  the  symbol  of  our  faith,"  urged  Mr.  Case- 
well. 

"  Still,  you  must  not  kneel.  I  am  not  accustomed 
180 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

to  this  power  that  has  taken  up  its  abode  in  me  and  is 
using  my  poor  body  and  mind  as  a  mighty  electric  cur- 
rent uses  the  slender,  feeble  wire.  And  I — I — fear  I 
might  forget — might  feel  it  was  to  me  you  knelt — might 
fall  through  pride  and  vanity." 

A  silence  that  seemed  somehow  ominous;  she  looked 
from  Mr.  Casewell  to  Hinkley,  and  instantly  regretted 
her  impulsive  unbending.  Mr.  Casewell's  expression, 
though  it  was  not  even  stern,  chilled  her  from  the  in- 
side out.  Hinkley — His  profile  was  between  her  and  the 
windows ;  its  outline,  like  a  carving  from  some  substance 
hard  as  iron,  harsh  as  granite,  made  her  shiver  into 
her  shrinking  self.  These  two  relentless  guardians  of 
the  faith,  terrible  even  in  their  gentlest  moods,  if  looked 
at  aright — like  the  sea  in  their  boundless  capacities  for 
graciousness  and  for  fury.  "  I  must  never  again  chill 
the  enthusiasm  of  any  of  my  followers  for  me,"  she  re- 
flected. Her  thoughts  ran  on  resentfully :  "  These  two 
regard  me  as  their  instrument,  as  their  prisoner — me, 
the  Mother-Light!  I  must  make  them  see  that  I  rule 
here,  or  my  position  will  become  impossible.  They  had 
too  much  power  during  her  years  of  feebleness."  And 
for  the  first  time  she  clearly  surveyed  the  chasm  between 
her  new  position  and  the  old.  In  that,  she  had  been 
joined  with  Casewell  and  Hinkley  in  friendship,  equal- 
ity, and  mutual  confidence,  their  three  wills  against  Ann 
Banks's  feebleness  and  aberrations.  Now,  it  was  she 

181 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

that  was  apart  and  alone,  with  their  two  wills  against 
her — against  her  inevitably,  because  wherever  there  are 
individualities  there  must  be  a  strife  and  the  lower  com- 
bining against  the  higher. 

"  You  have  some  telegrams  and  letters  for  me,"  she 
said  formally  to  her  First  Apostle. 

"  Nothing  especial,"  he  replied.  "  Merely  routine 
that  I  or  the  others  can  look  after." 

"  I'll  not  detain  you  from  your  duties,  Mr.  Hinkley," 
she  said  to  her  Second  Apostle  with  the  same  formality 
of  tone  and  manner.  When  he  had  gone,  she  began 
her  breakfast.  Mr.  Casewell  was  still  standing,  await- 
ing leave  to  sit  or  to  go.  She  ate  in  silence,  apparently 
unconscious  of  his  presence  but  diffusing  a  chilling  con- 
straint. 

"  Did  you  wish  anything?  "  he  said  at  last,  giving 
over  the  attempt  to  force  her  to  speak  first. 

"  The  business  that  must  be  awaiting  my  attention," 
she  answered  colorlessly. 

"  Everything  has  been  attended  to,"  he  explained, 
in  his  ordinary  tone  but  with  keen  eyes  watchful  of  this 
puzzling  development  in  the  young  Mother-Light. 
"  All  of  us  strive  to  spare  the  Mother-Light  as  much  as 
possible." 

"  Your  kindness  is  misdirected,"  she  said,  looking 
tranquilly  at  him,  "  when  it  tempts  me  to  shirk  my  re- 
sponsibilities." 

182 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  All  your  orders  shall  be  obeyed,"  he  answered 
deferentially. 

She  knew  his  sincerity,  therefore  knew  he  thought  his 
deference  sincere.  But  she  felt  that  he  misunderstood 
himself.  "  Certainly,"  she  said,  with  a  slight  lifting 
of  the  eyebrows.  "  Obedience  is  the  matter  of  course. 
I  should  not  discuss  that.  There  would  be  little  hope 
for  the  Church  if  it  were  not  so." 

"  We  are  all  under  the  discipline,"  he  reminded  her 
gently,  with  slight  stress  upon  "  all." 

"  Not  all"  she  replied,  and  his  eyes  had  to  sink 
before  hers.  "  /  am  responsible  only  to  the  Power  that 
rules  me  and  rules  the  Church  through  me." 

A  purple  flush  overspread  his  face,  his  forehead, 
and  the  bald  dome  beyond. 

She  rose  and  at  her  full  height  seemed  to  tower 
above  his  short,  powerful  figure.  "  The  first  test  of 
faith,"  she  continued  slowly  and  with  winning  reproach- 
ful sadness,  "  is  loyalty  to  the  Power  that  resides  in  the 
Mother-Light.  Is  it  not  so?  " 

In  the  pause  his  flush  gradually  retreated  and  died 
away.  She  could  not  see  his  face,  but  some  emotion  was 
struggling  to  express  itself  against  the  resistance  of 
those  mighty  shoulders. 

"  And  if  there  is  a  Mother-Light,"  she  continued, 
"  she  must  be  the  inspiration  of  the  Church,  not  a  figure- 
head with  an  idle,  mischief-breeding  mind.  She  must 

183 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

be  full  of  the  joy  of  the  faith — and  how  is  that  pos- 
sible unless  she  has  work  that  she  believes  in  and  that 
makes  her  believe  in  herself?  I  believe  in  myself — now. 
But  how  long  should  I  believe,  if  I  had  nothing  satis- 
fying to  do  and  if  you — especially  you,  Mr.  Casewell! 
— were  reminding  me  day  by  day  that  you  thought  I 
was  your  creation  rather  than  the  chosen  of  The  Light?  " 

"  Enough,"  he  said — rather,  begged.  "  You  have 
shown  me  my  sin — my  sin  of  pride.  You  know — you 
must  know — that  it  was  unconscious.  And  it  was  the 
worse  for  that,  because  our  unconscious  sins  are  not 
mere  open  foes  but  are  traitors."  And  he  would  have 
knelt  to  her  had  she  not  prevented  it  through  a  subtle 
instinct  that  if  he  were  visibly  to  humble  his  proud 
personality  in  those  circumstances,  it  would  in  spite  of 
himself  rankle  afterward  as  a  humiliation. 

"  We  understand  each  other  now,"  she  insisted. 
"  Let  us  never  speak  or  think  of  this  again.  I  simply 
saw  that  you  had  for  the  moment  lost  your  spiritual  point 
of  view,  and  were  leading  Will  Hinkley  astray.  How 
can  we  expect  others  to  be  spiritual  if  we  are  not?  " 

"  Not  until  this  moment,"  said  he,  "  has  my  belief  in 
you  struck  down  to  the  foundation  rock,  to  rest  there 
unshakable.  It  shows  the  subtlety  of  sin  and  doubt. 
When  Ann  Banks  first  told  me  that  she  felt  the  spirit 
of  The  Light  relaxing  its  hold  upon  her,  we  began  to 
cast  about,  praying  to  The  Light  for  guidance.  We 

184 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

had  almost  fixed  upon  some  one — a  young  English 
woman  of  wonderful  power  who  had  made  the  greatest 
worldly  sacrifices  for  the  faith.  But  we  hesitated — we  felt 
that  The  Light  was  not  in  our  selection.  Then — One 
day,  Hinkley  talked  to  me  of  you — of  your  resemblance 
to  Ann  Banks,  and  of  a  certain  veil  of  mystery  over 
your  mind  and  heart,  and  person  even,  which  had  marked 
you  from  childhood  as  unusual  and  apart.  He  had  no 
idea  what  was  in  my  mind.  But,  as  he  talked  of  you, 
a  feeling  came  over  me — a  drawing  toward  you,  like  a 
command  to  seek  you  out.  I  talked  to  her  of  you,  as 
casually  as  Hinkley  had  talked  to  me.  She  listened, 
said  nothing.  A  few  days  and  she  sent  me  a  note  by 
Molly  from  her  inner  apartment  to  which  she  had  with- 
drawn, as  she  frequently  did  and  as  you  doubtless  will, 
to  isolate  herself  to  the  full  power  of  The  Light.  The 
note  directed  me  to  search  you  out  from  the  beginning. 
At  every  step  my  conviction  grew  that  you  were  the 
chosen  of  The  Light.  So  confident  were  we  that,  after 
you  had  come  to  us,  we  did  not  attempt  to  guide  you. 
We  left  you  to  The  Light.  And  you  found  it !  " 

"  How  hard  I  have  fought  against  it,"  she  said. 
"  If  I  could  only  be  sure  that  the  struggle  is  won ! " 
And  before  her  rose  vaguely  the  form  of  Thorndyke — 
not  as  a  temptation  but  as  a  shadowing  of  one  of  the 
remote  possibilities  of  temptation. 

"  In  your  darkest  moments,"  he  replied,  "  always 
185 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

remember  that  in  a  universe  where  truth  is  so  elusive, 
he  who  once  touches  what  seems  to  him  to  be  the  truth, 
must  grapple  it  fast.  Better  even  illusion  of  light  than 
the  despair  of  darkness.  But,  best  of  all,  The  Light !  " 

"  May  It  shine  in  us  all — ever !  "  prayed  the  Mother- 
Light. 

"  Amen  and  Amen ! "  exclaimed  the  First  Apostle. 

She  sent  him  away  and  went  into  the  dressing-room 
that  was  only  partly  furnished,  and  so  through  the 
passage  to  her  first  apartment.  After  trying  all  the 
doors  to  assure  herself  that  she  was  locked  in,  she  drew 
from  the  closet  in  the  sitting-room  the  bag  and  the 
trunk  she  had  brought  with  her  from  New  York.  She 
got  the  key  and  unlocked  them.  Everything  she  had 
brought*  was  there.  In  the  top  tray  of  the  trunk  the 
cheap  little  toques  and  waists  and  the  worn  boots  and 
shoes ;  in  the  very  bottom  things  that  had  been  Richard 
Hickman's — a  necktie  she  had  thought  particularly 
becoming  to  him ;  a  photograph  of  him,  another  of  her- 
self when  she  was  graduating  from  the  academy  in  Ida 
Grove,  his  pocketbook  with  several  of  his  cards  in  it 
and  some  love  verses  he  had  fancied  and  had  cut  from 
newspapers,  a  bundle  of  his  letters  to  her  and  another 
bundle  of  her  letters  to  him — she  did  not  pause  to  read 
them — the  pawn  tickets  for  his  watch  and  her  rings,  a 
locket  she  knew  contained  a  lock  of  his  hair — and  she 
did  not  open  the  locket.  Last  of  all  she  found  a  pair  of 

186 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

tiny  shoes,  with  a  little  white  half-stocking  tucked  in 
each,  and  a  photograph  of  the  baby  taken  at  six  months. 
She  sat  upon  the  floor  for  an  hour,  or  longer,  with  these 
last  things  in  her  lap,  her  hands  resting  listlessly  upon 
them.  Her  face  had  softened  at  first  sight  of  them; 
it  set  in  sternness  and  bitterness  as  the  phantoms  of  her 
life  in  New  York,  conjured  by  those  mementoes,  filed  in 
grim  procession  before  her.  She  watched  with  eyes  that 
were  dry  and  a  heart  that  was  cold  as  the  chill  of  death. 

She  lit  a  great  fire  on  the  open  hearth;  as  rapidly 
as  they  would  burn  she  flung  in  all  that  had  been  in  bag 
and  trunk.  She  hid  her  baby's  things  by  wrapping 
them  in  one  of  her  old  skirts  before  she  threw  them  upon 
the  pyre.  When  only  ashes  were  left,  she  tossed  the 
bag  into  the  trunk  and  thrust  it  into  the  closet.  She 
was  just  leaving  the  room;  she  paused  to  take  a  fare- 
well glance  at  the  ashes;  she  came  slowly  back  and 
threw  herself  on  the  rug  directly  over  the  entrance  to 
the  sepulchre  of  the  "  broken  candlestick  of  The  Light." 
She  buried  her  head  in  her  arms,  cried  and  moaned  and 
sobbed.  When  the  storm  had  passed  she  rose  and 
stretched  her  arms  toward  the  gray  ashes.  Then  she 
returned  to  the  apartment  of  the  Mother-Light. 

"  I  have  effaced  the  grave  of  the  late  Maida  Hick- 
man,"  she  said,  gazing  out  of  the  great  window  of  her 
private  sitting-room. 

Against  the  horizon  where  the  light  made  the  air 
187 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

seem  a  vast  silent  sea  of  crystal  faintly  tinged  with 
purple  there  rose  a  column  of  smoke,  passively  drifting, 
now  smutching  and  now  adorning  the  sky,  as  the  evil 
of  shadow  or  the  good  of  sunshine  happened  to  envelop 
it.  "  How  like  life  that  smoke  is,"  she  thought ;  "  pas- 
sive, the  sport  of  force  and  chance."  And  she  watched 
it  until  it  had  merged  into  the  purple — "  As  Maida 
Hickman  is  merged  in  The  Light,"  she  said,  with  an 
uplifting  heart. 


188 


XIV 

THE  evening  of  his  return  to  New  York  Thorn- 
dyke  dined  with  his  friend  Brenton,  the  specialist  in 
diseases  of  the  brain  and  nerves.  For  years  they  had 
dined  together  at  least  four  times  each  week ;  and  when 
they  did  not  dine  together  each  usually  dined  alone,  as 
neither  had  any  other  intimate.  They  had  been  at- 
tracted each  to  the  other  at  the  P.  and  S.,  by  similarity 
in  poverty  and  in  ambition;  they  had  lived  and  studied 
together  at  Paris,  then  at  Vienna;  and,  after  sixteen 
years  of  closest  personal  association,  they  were  still 
intimates,  despite  the  fact  that  in  one  important  respect 
each  repelled  the  other — Thorndyke's  touch  of  imagina- 
tion seemed  to  Brenton  a  weakness  in  an  otherwise  well- 
balanced  mind;  Brenton's  lack  of  imagination  seemed  to 
Thorndyke  a  narrowness  and  a  disfigurement.  Perhaps 
they  clung  together  chiefly  because,  without  the  other, 
each  would  have  been  entirely  alone.  They  had  settled 
in  New  York,  strangers  to  it;  they  had  become  dis- 
tinguished, were  becoming  famous,  yet  they  remained 
members  of  New  York's  huge  colony  of  citizen-strangers. 
And  they  were  beyond  the  expansive  period  of  youth 
when  friends  are  made.  While  Thorndyke's  imagina- 
13  189 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

tion  had  kept  alive  his  sympathy  with  the  rest  of  man- 
kind, Brenton  had  become  an  icy  isolation,  a  personified 
scientific  curiosity;  and  through  incessant  study  of  in- 
sanity he  had  acquired  many  of  the  mannerisms  of  the 
insane — stealthy  smiles  and  gestures,  a  habitual  look  of 
steely,  glittering  craft,  convulsive  twitchings  of  the 
fingers  in  moments  of  abstraction. 

Such  was  the  analytical  chemist  to  whom  Thorndyke 
was  about  to  submit  himself,  his  senses  still  steeped  in 
that  mysterious  irradiation  from  the  Mother-Light's 
eyes  and  hair  and  form  and  motion,  an  irradiation  which 
he  longed  to  believe  divine.  And  with  the  energy  pos- 
sessed only  by  a  delusion  which  dreads  its  own  destruc- 
tion he  was  unconsciously  bracing  himself  against  the 
incantations  Brenton  would  certainly  pronounce  in  the 
name  of  Reason. 

"  Well,"  said  Brenton,  breaking  a  long  silence. 

They  were  at  a  small  table  in  the  almost  empty  din- 
ing-room of  their  club. 

"Well — what?"  asked  Thorndyke,  determined  not 
to  give  battle  until  it  was  forced  upon  him. 

"  Did  you  see  the  Mother-Light  ?  " 

"  Yes — I  saw  her,"  said  Thorndyke,  conscious  that 
his  tone  was  defensive.  "  But,  the  newspapers  told  the 
whole  story." 

"  Ah !  "  Brenton  gave  one  of  his  peculiar,  sly  smiles. 
Thorndyke  knew  how  meaningless  those  mannerisms  were, 

190 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

but  this  smile  irritated  him.  He  suspected  that  a  sinis- 
ter meaning  lurked  in  it.  "  Yes,  I  read  the  papers  care- 
fully. She  evidently  carried  the  reporters  off  their 
feet.  An  interesting  case.  The  Light  is  the  most  in- 
teresting of  all  these  contortions  into  which  dying  faith 
is  throwing  itself.  And  her  theology  is  very  shrewd — 
a  fog  bank  which  it's  practically  useless  for  Science  to 
cannonade.  She  catches  the  classes  that  think  they're 
intelligent  because  they're  more  or  less  educated.  I'd 
like  to  see  her." 

"  Yes — I  wish  you  could,"  said  Thorndyke.  "  I 
think  you  would  be  surprised." 

"  Oh,  for  that  matter  I  should  find  nothing  I  don't 
already  know  about !  "  answered  Brenton.  "  The  phe- 
nomenon is  familiar.  It's  as  old  as  the  nervous  system 
and  its  religious  form  differs  in  no  essential  from  its 
other  forms.  Every  asylum  always  has  its  group  of 
enthusiasts  who  believe  themselves  or  some  one  else  the 
center  of  a  new  religion  or  of  some  new  development  of 
an  old  religion." 

Thorndyke's  amusement  was,  perhaps,  not  wholly  a 
pretense.  "  Then  you  think — the — Mother-Light  and 
her  followers  all  insane?  " 

"  Not  under  a  conservative  definition  of  insanity," 
said  Brenton,  unruffled  because  still  unconscious. 
*'  Only  in  the  sense  that  the  entire  race  of  human  ani- 
mals is  insane — letting  its  egotism  read  into  its  ignorance 

191 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

evidence  that  it  is  a  sort  of  aristocrat  come  down  in  the 
universe  from  '  better  days  '  which  will  presently  return. 
I  shouldn't  call  that  insanity  for  practical  purposes.  It 
becomes  practical  insanity  only  when  it  interferes  with 
the  routine  of  accumulating  property  and  posterity." 

Thorndyke  had  no  comment.  He  would  have  said 
the  same  things  himself,  or  at  least  would  have  indorsed 
them,  twenty-four  hours  before. 

"  Tell  me  about  her"  said  Brenton,  when  his  train 
of  thought  led  him  back  to  his  starting  point. 

Thorndyke  flushed.  "  I  should  only  excite  your 
ridicule,"  he  said,  "  and  that  in  turn  would  excite  my 
anger." 

Brenton  was  so  astounded  that  he  laid  down  his  knife 
and  fork  and  stared.  "  You  don't  mean  that  she  con- 
verted you!  "  he  exclaimed.  He  had  thought  that  his 
knowledge  of  the  devious  turnings  of  the  mind  made  it 
impossible  for  any  aberration  in  anybody  to  astound  him. 
But  this  particular  aberration  in  this  particular  man — 
it  was  unbelievable ! 

"  In  the  sense  you  mean — no,"  answered  Thorndyke. 
"  In  another  sense — But  I  don't  care  to  explain." 

Another  long  silence,  during  which  Brenton  studied 
his  friend's  dreamy,  abstracted  face,  with  an  expression 
alternating  between  amazement  and  anxiety.  Then 
Brenton :  "  I  had  a  curious  case  to-day — the  beginning 
of  it.  One  of  the  instructors  in  psychology  up  at  the 

192 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

university — perhaps  you  know  him — Carmack?  He's 
the  author  of  a  popular  book  on  spiritualistic  phe- 
nomena." 

"  I've  heard  of  him,"  said  Thorndyke  somewhat 
curtly. 

"A  brilliant  mind — well-balanced  until  recently.  He 
finally  found  a  medium  whose  tricks  he  couldn't  fathom. 
And  now  he  has  gone  clean  daft — believes  in  the  medium 
— takes  the  money  his  own  family  needs  and  squanders 
it  in  keeping  the  fellow  going — has  contracted  a  spiritual 
marriage.  A  miserable  story.  Only  his  family  and  a 
few  friends  know  as  yet.  They  came  to  me  because 
they  hope  he  can  be  cured  before  he  makes  himself 
notorious  or  kills  himself.  And  the  climax  of  absurdity 
is  that  the  medium's  an  utterly  preposterous  person — 
a  shifty,  uncouth  scallywag  who  went  about  exposing 
the  medium  business  a  few  years  ago,  then  went  back 
into  it." 

By  this  time  Thorndyke  had  his  good-humor. 
"And  the  moral?"  he  asked  cheerfully.  "The  moral 
for  me,  I  mean." 

"  The  moral  for  everyone  who  respects  his  sanity," 
said  Brenton.  "  It  is,  never  permit  the  mind  to  hang 
over  and  peer  into  the  swamps  and  sewers  of  instinct. 
To  be  busy,  incessantly  busy,  upon  the  firm  ground  of 
the  known  and  the  immediate  and  the  useful — that  is 
sanity,  and  it's  the  highroad  away  from  misery.  I,  my- 

193 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

self — Not  a  day  passes  that  I  do  not  feel  in  the  very 
marrow  of  my  being  the  ages-old,  ages-strong  germs 
of  superstition,  alive  and  defying  any  germicide  of  my 
new  faith  in  reason." 

"  And  why,"  queried  Thorndyke,  "  do  you  call  the 
old  faith  a  superstition  and  the  new  faith — for  you  say 
reason  is  only  a  faith — a  true  religion  ?  " 

"  I  prefer  the  new  faith  for  the  same  reason  that  I 
prefer  electric  light  to  tallow  dip.  It  enables  me  to 
see  better." 

Thorndyke  smiled  somewhat  bitterly.  "  But,  in  view 
of  what  it  reveals,"  he  said,  "  wasn't  the  twilight 
better?  " 

"  There  you  go  beyond  me,"  conceded  Brenton.  "  I 
don't  waste  energy  in  railing  at  the  blindness  of  the 
blind  motive-power  of  the  universe.  Why  fall  afoul  the 
stone  that  has  accidentally  rolled  down  hill  and  struck 
you?  " 

"  But,"  suggested  Thorndyke,  "  aren't  you  carrying 
your  craze  for  lighting  things  up  a  little  too  far  when 
you  try  to  ease  a  poor  devil  of  a  harmless  lunacy  that 
makes  him  supremely  happy  ?  " 

"  Harmless !  "  replied  Brenton,  with  a  grunt.  "  The 
trouble  is  that  insanity  is  progressive,  progressive 
toward  worse  conscious  miseries  than  health  ever  knows." 
Brenton  said  this  so  seriously  that  Thorndyke  laughed 
outright. 

194 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  We  specialists !  "  he  jeered.  "  Always  finding  our 
pet  disease  in  every  symptom.  What  would  you  say, 
what  wouldn't  you  think,  if  I  told  you  I'd  read  The  Way 
of  The  Light  three  times  from  end  to  end  without  miss- 
ing a  word ! " 

Brenton  tried  to  look  cheerful;  but  his  face  soon 
clouded  and  he  sat  soberly  regarding  his  plate.  Thorn- 
dyke  watched  him  with  laughing  eyes  until  he  looked  up. 
Then  he  said :  "  But  you  don't  ask  me  what  I  thought 
of  it." 

"  No  doubt  you  found  it  a  revelation,"  said  Bren- 
ton. "  The  alphabet  would  become  an  acrostic  con- 
taining the  ultimate  secret  of  things  if  one  read  it  over 
often  enough  and  protested  to  himself  vigorously 
enough.  The  sublime  and  the  ridiculous  are  such  close 
neighbors  that  addle-headed  humanity  often  mistakes 
their  doors." 

"  Well,  it  may  astonish  you  to  learn  that  three  times 
wasn't  often  enough  for  me.  My  mind  is  still  too  strong 
as  you  would  say,  or  too  weak,  as  the  followers  of  The 
Light  would  say." 

"  You're  laughing,"  said  Brenton,  "  but  you,  any- 
one in  our  profession,  ought  to  appreciate  why  I'm  ready 
to  believe  almost  anyone  is  '  touched ' — especially  a 
strong  mind.  It  takes  a  strong  mind  to  go  good  and 
crazy — a  Peter  Hermit  to  get  a  crusading  insanity  that 
sets  Europe  stark  mad  for  centuries ;  a  Mark  Antony  to 

195 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

get  a  love-lunacy  that  throws  an  empire  into  convul- 
sions and  unsettles  the  human  imagination  for  all  time." 

At  Brenton's  last  words  Thorndyke  flushed  and  his 
eyes  lit  up,  and  he  lapsed  into  abstraction.  Brenton 
watched  and  reflected;  there  came  back  to  him  the  de- 
scription of  the  Mother-Light  which  the  newspapers  had 
given — her  beauty  revealed  to  the  public  in  the  clear  day 
for  the  first  time  in  nine  years.  "  You  must  have  got 
there  too  late  to  see  her  on  the  balcony,"  he  said  pres- 
ently. 

"  My  uncle  got  me  an  interview,"  replied  Thorndyke. 

Brenton's  lips  and  fingers  twitched  and  his  eyes  gave 
off  a  sly,  furtive  glitter.  "  Did  she  receive  you  in  a 
light  room  ?  " 

"  As  light  as  this,"  said  Thorndyke,  "  only,  with  the 
light  of  day."  He  was  seeing  it  all  again — the  crim- 
son and  gold  symbolism  of  the  beautiful  furnishings 
and  draperies,  a  fit  background  for  that  mysterious, 
haunting,  intoxicating  personality.  "  Was  the  day  the 
only  light?  "  he  said  to  himself. 

"  How  old  did  she  seem  to  you  to  be?  "  pursued 
Brenton  in  his  jarring  tone  of  the  matter-of-fact. 

"  She  didn't  give  me  an  impression  of  age,  one  way 
or  the  other,"  said  Thorndyke,  still  abstracted.  "  The 
strongest  impression  was  of — Life.  I  have  never  seen 
anyone  so  terrifically  alive" 

Brenton  smiled  his  strange  smile  in  security. 
196 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

Thorndyke  wasn't  even  looking  in  his  direction.  "  Was 
she  beautiful?  " 

"  I  think  so.  But,  as  I  said,  there  was  only  the  one 
vivid  impression." 

"  And  she  gave  you,"  Brenton  ventured,  "  a  sense 
of  the  supernatural  ?  " 

"  As  I  told  you,  I  don't  wish  to  talk  of  that,"  said 
Thorndyke,  looking  straight  at  him  now.  "  But  I  will 
say  one  thing,  Eugene — In  all  my  searchings  into  the 
secret  of  things — and  what  intelligent  man  can  keep  his 
mind  from  that? — I've  always  ended  with  a  sense  that 
there  was  no  secret,  only  to  return  to  the  search  again 
with  a  sense  that  something  had  eluded  me — that  there 
must  be  something  more  than  a  chemical  reaction  in 
friendship  and  love,  in  justice  and  mercy.  And  when  I 
looked  at  that  woman  and  listened  to  her,  I  felt  that  if 
there  was  a  mystery,  she  held  the  key  to  it  for  me.  You 
may  call  it  insanity  or  superstition  or " 

"  But  I  don't,"  interrupted  his  friend.  "  I'm  not 
so  absurd  as  that."  His  fears  were  allayed  and  he  was 
eating  busily. 

"  Then  what  do  you  call  it  ?  "  demanded  Thorndyke. 

"  Love,"  said  Brenton,  without  interrupting  the 
motion  of  his  jaws. 

Thorndyke  slowly  shook  his  head.  "  No,"  he  said, 
"  more  than  that.  A  religion." 

Brenton  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  If  you  like,  call 
197 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

it  that,"  said  he,  chillingly  using  the  microscope  upon 
that  for  which  Thorndyke  thought  the  telescope  far  too 
feeble.  "  All  energy  is  the  same.  We  give  it  different 
names  in  different  circumstances  for  convenience.  The 
form  it  takes  is  determined  by  environment.  It  becomes 
light  or  heat  or  electricity  or  patriotism  or  religion  or 
love  or  what  not." 

But  Thorndyke  would  discuss  no  further.  He  shut 
himself  in  with  himself,  and  with  his  passion  which  in 
some  moods  seemed  to  him  as  supernal  as  religion,  again 
as  sinister  as  a  black  mass,  and  yet  again  the  one  chance 
to  make  the  one  brief  life  a  draught  of  purple  wine  in 
a  golden  cup.  He  hated  his  once  beloved  profession  for 
the  time  it  compelled.  Had  this  passion  come  in  the 
days  when  he  was  waiting,  instead  of  in  the  days  when 
he  was  working  under  the  drive  of  a  won  reputation,  or 
had  he  been  able,  or  had  he  hoped  to  be  able,  daily  to 
see  Her,  Brenton's  gloomiest  misgivings  would  soon  have 
been  realized.  But  he  was  compelled  to  work,  was  com- 
pelled to  be  patient,  fretting  incessantly  and  at  times 
furiously  against  the  restraints  to  thought  of  Her  and 
against  the  barriers  to  the  sight  of  Her. 

After  several  weeks  of  maneuvering  he  contrived 
to  get  himself  invited  by  his  granduncle  to  spend  a 
Saturday-to-Monday  at  the  Temple  of  Temples.  He 
was  quartered  in  the  apartment  opposite  Mr.  Case- 
well's.  "  It  is  intended  for  the  private  secretary  to  the 

198 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

Mother-Light,"  the  First  Apostle  explained  to  him, 
"  but  the  position  is  vacant  just  now."  This  nearness 
worked  to  intensify  his  sense  of  her  until  it  was  a 
high  fever.  On  Sunday  Molly  showed  him  all  the  build- 
ings, took  him  for  a  two  hours'  drive  in  the  park,  acres 
on  acres  of  forest  of  enormous  old  trees.  As  they  re- 
turned he  pointed  toward  a  great  enclosure  adjoining 
the  east  wing  of  the  Temple  of  Temples.  "  What  is 
that?"  he  asked. 

"  It  is  Her  garden,"  said  Molly.  "  I  wish  I  could 
take  you  there.  It  is  beautiful." 

"  Isn't  it  ever  open  to  the  public?  " 

"  Not  to  us  even,  except  when  She  sends  for  us." 

"  What  a  lonely  life  she  must  lead ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Of  course,  She  sees  very  few  people.  But — Do 
you  think  people  are  the  only  source  of  companionship? 
Don't  most  of  them  make  one  feel  more  lonely  than  soli- 
tude? Besides,  even  if  there  were  nothing  else,  how 
could  She  be  lonely  when  the  Church,  scattered 
throughout  the  world,  centers  in  Her?  " 

He  talked  of  Her,  as  a  religion,  to  Mr.  Casewell; 
he  talked  of  Her,  as  a  personality,  to  Molly.  But  he 
heard  nothing  of  her  wishing  to  see  him,  saw  no  chance 
to  cross  the  barrier  which  seemed  the  higher,  the  nearer 
he  stood  to  it.  At  last,  he  asked  Mr.  Casewell  point- 
blank  if  she  would  receive  him. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  First  Apostle.  "  And 
199 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

I  have  no  means  of  finding  out.  The  Mother-Light  " — 
and  he  paused  for  the  ceremonial  which  Thorndyke  had 
at  first  looked  on  as  a  pitiful  superstition  but  was  now 
approving  as  Her  due — "  sees  no  one  a  second  time," 
he  went  on,  "  unless  she  herself  sends  for  them." 

"  Perhaps — if  she  knew  I  am  here — "  began  Thorn- 
dyke,  but  was  stopped  by  his  granduncle's  look  of 
amusement.  "  If,"  he  hastened  on  to  explain — "  she 
knew  how  anxious  I  am  to  see  her  again,  she  might  admit 
me  long  enough  to  let  me  thank  her  for  the  book — for 
the  pleasure  I  had  in  reading  it." 

"  There  are  millions  of  unbelievers  who  would  like 
to  gawk  and  gape  at  Her,"  said  his  granduncle.  "  I 
am  afraid,  my  boy,  that  I  gave  you  a  false  idea  by 
arranging  to  have  you  received.  I  must  remind  you 
that  She  is  the  holy  fountain  of  a  religion  dear  to  many, 
many  thousands.  Unless  you  wish  to  pain  me,  you  won't 
again  make  me  think  you  are  regarding  Her  as  a  fit 
subject  for  an  idle  curiosity.  You  have  no  business  with 
Her ;  you  are  not  of  our  faith.  She — we — care  nothing 
for  your  or  anyone's  shallow  *  reasonings '  about  our 
religion.  If  She,  or  The  Book,  or  the  blessed  influence 
of  The  Light  has  set  you  to  groping  your  way  from 
The  Darkness,  pray  and  struggle  and  humbly  strive 
after  wisdom.  And  you  will  find  again  that  old  faith 
in  the  Great  All  which  you  have  vaingloriously  aban- 
doned for  this  jaunty,  new-fangled  fad  of  reason-wor- 

200 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

ship.  Do  not  resent  my  speaking  plainly.  I  have  lived 
a  long  time.  And  I  may  add,  I  am  very  fond  of  you." 

Thorndyke  was  so  abashed  that  he  was  disconcerted. 
"  You  are  right,  but  you  are  wrong,  too,"  he  said. 
"  However,  I  must  say  no  more.  Only — don't  think 
for  an  instant,  Uncle  Albert,  that  I — "  He  broke  off 
abruptly,  for  in  his  eagerness  to  cover  his  retreat  he  was 
about  to  tell  a  deliberate  falsehood — it  was  in  disdain 
of  The  Light  that  he  was  asking  to  see  her;  it  was  in 
obedience  to  a  passion  which  would  have  made  his  grand- 
uncle  long  to  strangle  him  did  he  know  its  sacrilegious 
imaginings.  They  almost  seemed  sacrilegious  to  him, 
as  he  walked  those  north  lawns  of  the  Temple  of  Tem- 
ples and  looked  toward  it  and  thought  of  the  sacred  mys- 
tery its  white  creeper-clad  walls  contained — a  mystery 
as  sacred  to  him  as  to  any  other  of  Her  adorers. 

"  She  undoubtedly  believes  in  her  divinity,"  he  said 
to  himself.  "  We  all  live  on  the  mental  atmosphere  we 
live  in.  And  in  this  atmosphere,  faith  is  as  natural  as 
disbelief  is  in  the  atmosphere  of  a  medical  college." 
She  believes  in  herself?  Why,  did  not  even  he  believe 
in  her — he  who  had  searched  out  life  to  the  uttermost 
cells  and  had  pronounced  it  a  matter  of  mindless  chem- 
istry? But  how  could  he  doubt,  he  asked  himself,  when 
the  miracle  of  arrested  age,  incredible  in  Molly  and  in 
his  granduncle,  soared  to  a  transcendental  climax  in 
that  glorious  eternal  youth  of  the  Mother-Light? 

201 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  Death  is  the  supreme  test,"  he  thought.  "  It  proves 
what  is  man  and  what  is  God." 

His  granduncle  was  still  waiting  for  him  to  finish 
his  uncompleted  sentence.  "  I  don't  know  what  to 
think !  "  he  now  exclaimed.  "  My  unbelief — or,  is  it  my 
belief? — frets  at  me  always." 

"  May  it  give  you  no  rest  until  you  emerge  into  the 
peace  of  The  Light !  "  prayed  his  granduncle  with  that 
convinced  fervor  of  his  which  never  failed,  at  least  for 
the  moment,  to  sober  the  cynic  and  to  make  the  scoffer 
uneasy. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  Thorndyke  was  at  the 
Temple  of  Temples  two  Sundays  in  each  month.  Mr. 
Casewell  hoped  he  would  enter  the  Church,  saw  what  a 
tower  of  strength  his  intellect  and  energy  would  be. 
And  one  Sunday,  as  he  looked  after  the  young  man  and 
Molly  setting  out  for  a  walk,  another  idea  came  to  him? 
one  that  made  his  eyes  wonderfully  soft  and  his  smile 
exquisitely  tender.  Thenceforth  he  watched  Molly  with 
that  gaze  of  his  which  let  escape  no  detail,  however  small 
and  obscure,  of  anything  he  fixed  his  mind  upon. 
What  he  observed  led  him  to  say  to  her  presently :  "  I've 
been  very  selfish  with  you,  little  girl,  haven't  I?  Try- 
ing to  keep  you  all  to  myself,  guarding  you  like  a  jealous 
ogre  from  the  happiness  you  might  give  and  get  out 
of  loving  and  being  loved." 

202 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

She  knew  that  he  had  seen  into  her  heart.  There 
came  a  fine  glow  over  her  face,  but  she  went  and  sat  on 
his  knee  and  looked  at  him  with  the  eyes  which  show 
that  their  owner  has  nothing  to  conceal  or  to  be  ashamed 
of.  "  I  thought  I  was  dedicated  to  The  Light,"  she 
said. 

"  And  so  you  were,  and  are,"  he  replied,  pressing 
her  head  against  his  chest  so  that  the  golden  hair  and 
the  white  beard  were  mingled.  "  But  The  Light  is  love 
— all  the  kinds  of  love  worthy  of  the  name.  It  would 
be  impossible  for  you,  born  in  The  Light,  to  give  or 
to  inspire " — his  voice  failed  and,  when  he  finished, 
it  was  almost  in  a  whisper — "  the  love  that  kills." 

"  Besides — I  have  promised  Her  that  I  will  never 
leave  Her." 

"  And  who  talked  of  your  leaving  her " — he 
laughed — "  or  me?  You  don't  say  a  word  about  not 
wanting  to  leave  me!  Never  mind — what  can  an  old 
grandfather  expect?  " 

She  pulled  his  great  white  beard  until  he  stopped 
teasing  her.  Then  she  said :  "  Whoever  marries  me 
marries  us  both.  But  my  promise  to  Her — that's  dif- 
ferent." 

"  You  wouldn't  leave  Her,"  he  explained.  "  You'd 
stay,  and  bring — someone  who  would  be  a  power  in  The 
Light — wouldn't  he,  Margaret?  " 

She  nodded.  "  If  he  would  only  believe ! "  she 
203 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

sighed,  "  would  only  let  himself  believe !  I  wish  She 
would  see  him  again." 

"  Haven't  you  told  Her  when  he's  been  here?  " 

"  I  thought  you  had,"  said  Molly.  "  I— didn't  like 
to — to  speak  of  him.  I've  got  no  skill  at  hiding  my 
feelings.  And  I  shouldn't  want  Her  to  know  until  he 
said  something  to  me." 

The  old  man  laughed.  "  He  looks  at  you  and  talks 
of  you  as  if  he  had,"  said  he. 

And  his  words  made  her  heart  soar  and  sing  like  a 
lark  in  the  sunshine;  for  she  felt  now  that  there  must 
indeed  be  some  justification  more  solid  than  mere  long- 
ing, for  what  she  found  in  the  trifles  of  look  and  tone 
and  manner  she  was  treasuring  and  constantly  re-exam- 
ining. 

In  June — on  its  third  Sunday — Thorndyke  saw  Her 
again. 

He  read  in  the  morning  newspapers  that  the  Mother- 
Light  would  probably  appear  to  the  graduating  class 
of  speaking  missioners,  that  the  apparition  had  not  been 
announced  because  a  large  crowd  was  not  wanted.  He 
took  the  first  train  and  at  one  o'clock  his  cab,  got  at  the 
station,  joined  the  long  procession  toward  the  park  of 
The  Light — people  of  every  condition,  in  every  kind  of 
vehicle  and  on  foot.  Not  until  nearly  three  o'clock 
did  he  find  himself  on  the  lawns  before  the  south  balcony, 

204 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

one  of  five  thousand  or  more,  hiding  himself  in  the  crowd. 
There  was  no  conversation  around  him,  no  whispering 
even;  the  eyes  of  all,  believers  and  unbelievers,  and  the 
thoughts  of  all,  were  upon  that  small  balcony  with  its 
white  marble  front  half  covered  by  creepers.  The  long 
windows  behind  it  were  closed,  their  lace  curtains  drawn. 

Half -past  three,  and  a  shiver  of  awe  passed  through 
the  crowd.  From  behind  them,  through  the  doors  of 
the  Hall  of  The  Light,  was  coming  the  murmur  of  the 
great  organ.  The  doors  under  the  balcony  opened; 
eleven  young  men  and  six  young  women  in  black  robes 
with  scarlet  and  gold  hoods  filed  out,  placed  themselves 
in  two  rows  at  the  outer  edge  of  the  reserved  space 
directly  before  the  balcony.  Thorndyke  noticed  their 
types  of  head  and  face — long,  narrow  heads,  curiously 
high  foreheads,  rarely  broad ;  faces  alight  with  dreamy 
enthusiasm.  The  murmur  of  the  organ  swelled  into  a 
triumphal  march;  the  balcony  windows,  wide  and  high, 
opened;  Thorndyke  saw  the  four  apostles — Casewell, 
Tillinghast,  both  very  old;  Hinkley  and  Floycroft, 
about  his  own  age.  They  were  in  gorgeous  canonicals 
and  their  faces,  all  strong  except  Tillinghast's,  had  the 
look  that  comes  from  nearness  to  a  dazzling  light. 
Higher  swelled  the  music  and  upon  its  billows  came  the 
hallelujahs  of  the  choir. 

The  "  missioners  of  The  Darkness  "  had  lately  fixed 
on  "  The  Scarlet  Woman  "  as  the  name  for  her.  As  if 
14  205 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

in  haughty  mockery  of  them  she  wore  that  day  crimson 
crepe  embroidered  with  small  old-gold  sunbursts.  As  she 
stood  on  the  balcony,  against  the  background  of  white 
stone,  the  afternoon  sun  made  her  seem  a  fire-goddess 
wrapped  in  flames  that  rose  and  sank  with  the  swell  and 
fall  of  her  bosom,  with  the  shifts  in  the  flowing  folds 
of  her  robe.  As  for  her  hair,  that  curiously  wrought 
casque  of  bronze,  it  was  all  aflame.  And  flame  seemed 
to  leap  from  her  proud  eyes  as  the  throng  sank  to  its 
knees  before  them. 

Thorndyke  happened  to  be  in  the  midst  of  a  group 
of  believers.  When  they  knelt,  he,  fascinated,  awed,  and 
dizzy  with  love  of  her,  did  not  notice  that  he  was  stand- 
ing all  alone,  was  the  only  person  not  kneeling.  This 
for  an  instant — until  her  eyes  met  his.  Whether  it  was 
the  believers  about  him  or  the  magic  of  that  glance  or 
both,  he  was  on  his  knees  also.  And  as  the  others  mur- 
mured :  "  The  Mother-Light !  Hear  us !  Heal  us !  " 
he  murmured :  "  My  Love !  Hear  me !  Heal  me !  " 

When  he  looked  again,  she  was  gone,  and  he,  among 
the  last,  was  rising.  It  was  over;  he  wandered  dazedly 
away,  through  groups  of  marvelers,  and  groups  trying 
to  scoff,  and  groups  that  wept  and  shouted  and  prayed. 
By  intuition  he  went  round  to  the  north  entrance.  He 
had  rung  before  he  remembered  his  original  intention 
not  to  let  his  relatives  know  he  had  come. 

When  he  entered  Molly's  little  drawing-room,  she 
206 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

happened  to  be  at  the  opposite  door.  At  sight  of  him 
she  started  and  paled.  "  I  was  just  going  to  send  in 
search  of  you,"  she  said.  And  her  manner  and  tone 
might  have  revealed  her  secret  to  him,  had  not  the  steady 
gentle  glow  of  the  pure  white  light  of  her  love  for  him 
been  lost  in  the  scarlet  irradiations  of  his  passion  for 
the  Mother-Light. 

"  How  did  you  know  I  was  here?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  it,"  she  answered.  "  A  few  minutes 
ago,  She  said  to  me,  '  Doctor  Thorndyke  is  here.  I 
wish  to  see  him.'  And  I — we  always  obey,  but  I  thought 
She  was  mistaken."  Molly  had  recovered  from  her  con- 
fusion and  was  full  of  enthusiasm  and  delight,  enthu- 
siasm over  the  apparition,  delight  that  She  was  to  re- 
ceive him.  "  Wasn't  it  wonderful — what  She  said !  " 
she  ended. 

"What?     When?" 

"  Why,  to  the  graduating  class — the  beautiful  sen- 
tence— and  the  way  she  uttered  it !  " 

"  I  didn't — didn't  hear,"  he  stammered.  "  I  wasn't 
very  near."  She  must  have  spoken  while  his  heart  was 
hearing  what  he  thought  her  eyes  had  flashed  to  him. 

He  followed  Molly  to  the  salon,  stood  with  head  bent 
while  she  was  presenting  him,  did  not  venture  to  look 
at  Her  until  they  were  alone. 


207 


XV 


SHE  had  changed  to  a  white  robe,  at  her  throat  a 
sunburst  set  in  rubies.  "  You  have  read  the  book  ?  " 
she  began,  looking  away  from  him  that  she  might  keep 
her  voice  calm.  "  Three  times  ?  " 

"  Three  times — each  time  carefully,"  was  his  an- 
swer, almost  unconscious  so  absorbed  were  his  mind  and 
all  his  senses  in  Her. 

"  You  will  tell  me  what  you  think  ?  " 

"  My  opinion  would  be  of  no  value.  And,  while 
people  differ  cheerfully  about  matters  of  fact,  don't  dif- 
ferences about  matters  of  opinion  always  irritate  ?  •"  He, 
and  she,  too,  spoke  in  a  subdued  manner,  their  nerves 
acute  to  the  electric  conditions  which  arose  the  instant 
they  came  within  sight  of  each  other,  which  grew  almost 
intolerable  if  they  were  near  enough  to  touch. 

"  Facts  are  impersonal,"  she  suggested.  "  Our  opin- 
ions are  ourselves.  But  I  wish  to  hear  what  you 
thought." 

"  As  I  told  you,  I  have  no  religious  belief.  But,  a 
strong  belief,  I  think,  in  what  is  sometimes  called  the 
religion  of  humanity." 

"  I  shouldn't  call  it  a  religion,"  she  said.  "  To  it 
208 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

we  are  poor  creatures  caged  in  the  dark.  And  it  says 
the  most  we  can  do  for  each  other  is  to  encourage  one 
another  not  to  cry  out  when  the  darkness  rains  on  each 
in  turn  the  shafts  of  sorrow,  disease,  and  death." 

"  But  that  is  the  only  religion  I  have  left,"  he  con- 
fessed. 

"  And  you  are  content  ?  " 

"  Who  that  is  at  all  sensitive  could  be  content  with 
such  a  creed?  One  can't  walk  a  hundred  yards  in  a  pub- 
lic highway  without  passing  people  in  mourning,  and 
each  mourner  is  a  reminder  of  my  despairing  creed — 
and,  alas,  a  witness  to  its  truth.  Men  pretend  to  believe 
death  is  a  dawn,  but  reason  tells  them  the  truth,  and 
they  give  their  pretense  the  lie  by  weeping  and  wearing 
black." 

"  But  you  did  not  always  believe  thus  ?  " 

"  I  long  had  the  faith  I  was  brought  up  in.  Higher 
criticism,  and  then  science,  took  it  from  me." 

"  You  didn't  give  it  up  gladly — with  a  sense  of 
superiority  ?  " 

"  Like  a  man  who  rejoices  when  he  no  longer  loves 
the  woman  he  once  was  happy  with,  instead  of  looking 
on  the  passing  of  his  love  as  a  catastrophe?  No — I 
was  too  much  attached  to  the  old  faith,  for  its  own  sake 
and  for  my  parents'  sake." 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  keep  it  ?  Why  did  you 
give  it  up  ?  " 

209 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  I  did  not  give  it  up,"  he  answered.  "  At  school 
I  was  shocked  by  the  unbelief  of  my  fellows.  Not  a 
positive  unbelief,  for  few  took  the  trouble  to  inquire 
deeply  enough  to  have  a  positive  opinion  one  way  or 
the  other ;  but  by  that  worst  form  of  unbelief — the  un- 
belief that  accepts  a  creed  because  acceptance  crudely 
seems  safer  and  less  troublesome,  and  then  dismisses  from 
thought  and  action  the  morality  upon  which  it  is 
founded.  And,  one  day  we  read  in  Cicero,  '  Why  do 
the  oracles  at  Delphos  no  longer  speak?  Nothing  is 
more  in  contempt  than  they.'  And  I  asked  myself  the 
same  question  about  the  oracles  of  our  fathers.  And  I 
began  to  examine  my  faith — and  it  vanished." 

"  You  tore  the  flower  to  pieces  to  prove  that  it  was  a 
flower.  Naturally,  you  had  only  dead  petals — no  color, 
no  perfume,  no  flower." 

"  And  then  I  set  out  to  find  another  flower — I  ven- 
tured to  hope,  one  more  beautiful.  I  saw  that  the  clue 
to  the  whole  mystery  was  to  be  found,  if  it  could  be 
found,  in  the  origin  of  life.  And  it  was  in  that  direc- 
tion I  searched.  I  needn't  remind  you  of  that  which 
science  has  made  a  primer  lesson  to  the  children  of  to- 
day— how,  in  the  boiling  kettle  of  the  primeval  ocean 
where  all  the  elements  were  dissolving  and  combining 
and  recombining  in  infinite  varieties,  there  was  formed 
in  the  helter-skelter  a  combination  that  had  the  elemen- 
tal energy  in  the  proportions  which  make  what  we  call 

210 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

life.  That  combination  may  have  been  formed  and 
wiped  out  a  million  times  in  those  aeons;  but  at  last, 
along  with  the  inanimate  combinations  we  have  to-day, 
it  happened  to  persist.  And,  after  ages  upon  ages  dur- 
ing which  it  took  on  infinite  forms,  it  at  last  happened 
to  fall  into  the  arrangement  that  was  the  remote  ances- 
tor of  our  vegetable  and  animal  kingdoms.  And  I  saw 
how  through  ages  on  ages  it  was  all  evolved — going  now 
downward  and  now  upward,  now  halting;  millions  on 
millions  of  types,  that  might  have  made  better  ancestors 
than  those  that  became  the  ancestors,  wiped  out  in  the 
haphazard,  aimless,  usually  futile,  purposelessness  and 
clumsiness ;  millions  on  millions  of  years  wasted  in  achiev- 
ing badly  the  simplest  results.  If  there  was  purpose, 
why  such  an  infinity  of  failures  and  futilities,  why  so 
many  millions  of  years  with  nothing  but  the  aimless  con- 
tentions of  inanimate  atoms?  " 

"  That  is  what  I,  too,  asked  myself,"  she  said.  She 
was  listening  with  a  delicious  sense  that  she  was  the  in- 
spiration of  the  eloquence  of  his  face  and  voice.  For, 
his  words — as  words  so  often  are — were  only  drift  upon 
the  current  of  feeling  to  mark  its  flow,  were  only  pre- 
texts for  the  intonations  of  passion. 

"  And  you  must  have  thought,"  he  went  on,  "  how, 
through  all  these  forms  which  geology  and  biology  have 
now  stripped  of  their  former  marvelousness — how, 
through  all  these  forms,  one  condition  persisted.  Those 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

that  happened  to  be  adapted  to  what  happened  to  be 
the  environment,  lived;  the  others — the  infinitely  more 
numerous  failures — perished.  Just  as  to-day,  even 
under  the  flexible  artificial  conditions  which  human  in- 
telligence has  created,  two-thirds  of  the  human  beings 
born  die  in  childhood." 

"  But,"  she  urged,  "  even  if  there  is  nothing  but 
force  and  matter,  as  you  say,  still — how  did  force  and 
matter  begin  ?  " 

"  Why  should  there  be  either  beginning  or  end? 
Why  should  not  these  aimless  convulsions  and  reactions 
of  force  and  matter  go  on  from  eternity  to  eternity? 
And  why  assume  an  external  creative  energy  when  it 
would  explain  nothing,  would  only  make  a  hideous  mys- 
tery of  deliberate  cruelty  where  there  really  is  no  mys- 
tery at  aU?  " 

"  No  mystery?     Not  even  in  the  Soul  of  man?  " 

"  I  am  coming  to  that,"  he  answered.  "  I  looked 
everywhere  for  creative  intelligence.  I  found  every- 
where the  clumsy  chisel-marks  of  chance.  A  marvel 
to  man  only  by  tradition  from  his  centuries  of  ignorance. 
The  marvel  has  vanished  as  dryad  and  nymph  and  satyr 
have  vanished  from  the  woods.  A  tediousness,  a  vain 
repetition,  a  hit  or  miss,  that  forbade  the  supposition 
of  an  intelligent  designer.  I  searched  for  laws ;  I  found 
only  conditions — accidents,  limited  by  the  limitations  of 
the  universe.  And  it  seemed  to  me  as  wise  to  toss  leaves 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

in  the  air  and  read  destiny  in  the  way  they  arranged 
themselves  in  falling,  as  to  read  Designer  into  that 
anarchy  of  failures  and  imperfections  and  futilities. 
And  at  last  I  came  to  Man — '  Here,'  said  I, '  I  shall  find 
what  I  seek.'  From  the  peak  of  man  I  looked  down 
the  vistas  of  living  things,  all  living  upon  each  other! 
And  I  saw  that  none  of  them,  not  even  man,  had  in  the 
essential  anything  which  was  not  in  the  original  cell. 
That  cell  was  only  a  stomach;  and  these  multiform 
groupings  of  cells  that  had  developed  out  of  it  were 
fundamentally  only  stomachs.  Plant-animal,  animal- 
plant,  or  plant,  or  animal,  jellyfish  or  oyster,  dog  or 
man,  whatever  powers  they  had  beyond  the  power  of  the 
original  cell  were  acquired  as  aids  to  the  stomach — eyes 
to  see  food,  nose  to  smell  it,  ears  to  hear  it,  legs  and 
wings  to  pursue  it,  hand  or  claw  to  seize  it.  Differ- 
ences were  only  differences  in  ability  to  find  and  to  cap- 
ture, to  take  in  and  to  digest,  food  to  keep  them  alive. 
And  the  most  successful  civilization,  if  one  looks  at  it 
rightly,  is  that  in  which  the  most  stomachs  are  most 
regularly  and  adequately  supplied  with  food — and  the 
same  thing  is  true  of  gardens  and  forests,  of  schools  of 
fish  or  herds  of  wild  beasts.  Just  to  live — just  to  live — 
just  to  keep  alive." 

"  Just  to  live,"  she  murmured.  She  was  listening — 
her  mind  to  his  words,  her  heart  to  his  tones.  And  her 
gaze  was  hanging  upon  his  lips,  upon  their  fascinating 

213 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

motions  as  his  words  issued  from  them.  And  he — He 
hardly  knew  what  he  was  saying.  "  Go  on,"  she  pleaded, 
as  his  lips  paused  and  his  voice  ceased. 

"  I  found,"  he  continued,  "  that  all  the  so-called 
spiritual  or  mental  questions  resolved  down,  if  one  took 
away  the  non-essentials,  to  this  purely  material  end — 
keeping  alive.  Religion — how  to  keep  alive  forever — 
a  mere  hope-born  extension  of  the  selfish  instinct  of  self- 
preservation.  Morality — how  to  keep  the  tribe,  or 
state,  or  family,  alive.  Politics,  economics — how  so  to 
regulate  the  means  of  acquiring  food  that  all  shall  have 
a  sufficient  share.  And  then " 

"  And  then  ?  "  she  repeated,  as  he  hesitated. 

"  I  saw  the  tragedy."  He  had  risen,  was  at  the 
window,  looking  out  into  space. 

"  The — soul  ?  "  she  asked,  following  him  first  with 
her  eyes  alone,  then,  yielding  to  an  imperative  impulse, 
taking  herself  to  stand  beside  him  in  the  floods  of  laugh- 
ing light  that  seemed  to  be  mocking  his  mournful  mood. 

"  The  soul,"  he  answered,  fixing  his  eyes  longingly 
upon  her.  "  In  those  infinities  of  haphazards,  in  that 
aimless  development  toward  a  perfectly  equipped  ap- 
paratus for  keeping  alive,  there  gradually  came  about  a 
nerve  center.  And  this  nerve  center,  developing  as  a 
procurer,  grew  more  and  more  dexterous.  From  a  mere 
automatic  spring  at  one  end  of  a  living  sac  mechanically 
to  open  it  when  it  touched  anything,  this  nerve  center 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

slowly  acquired  five  sensibilities.  Then,  through  infinite 
ages  more,  and  through  infinite  transformations,  some 
of  these  food-producers  became  most  dexterous  in  plot- 
ting and  procuring  for  the  appetites,  became  brains,  be- 
came human  brains.  In  all  historic  time  have  the  over- 
whelming mass  of  human  beings,  high  and  low,  ever 
thought  except  of  things  directly  related  to  the  appe- 
tites? But  the  development  has  gone  steadily  on  and 
the  brain  has  been  slowly  acquiring  the  power  of  ab- 
stract thought — the  Soul.  All  men  have  it  a  little, 
perhaps  some  of  the  other  animals  faintly.  A  few  men — 
not  many — have  it  in  a  higher  degree." 

"  But  you  did  find  the  Soul !  "  she  exclaimed. 

The  somber  undercurrent  that  had  been  running 
near  the  surface  of  all  he  had  said  now  showed  itself 
strongly  in  his  face  and  voice  as  he  answered :  "  Yes,  I 
did  find  the  Soul.  But  I  shrink  from  telling  you  what 
I  found  to  be  true  of  it." 

"  But  you  must  tell  me  all,"  she  insisted.  "  I  wish 
to  know  the  end — why  you  say  '  tragedy.' ' 

"  The  Soul — the  Intellect  " — he  went  on — "  an  acci- 
dent incidental  to  this  improvement  of  the  service  between 
the  vital  organs  and  their  sources  of  supply.  Almost 
anything  can  be  used  for  several  purposes.  In  the  sav- 
age cruelty  of  blind  chance  there  arose  at  last  out  of 
all  this  chemistry  an  organ  that  could  not  only  think 
in  the  concrete  but  also  in  the  abstract.  It  was  of  the 

215 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

highest  usefulness  in  serving  the  appetites;  it  had  an 
incidental  and  useless  power,  to  dream  the  dreams  of 
thought." 

"  The  beautiful  dreams  of  thought,"  she  said. 
"  You  call  that  a  tragedy?  " 

"  Yes — it  is  the  tragedy  of  the  universe.  The  In- 
tellect could  think  for  the  appetites  whose  slave  it  was 
born  to  be.  It  could  think  also  for  itself — could 
dream  of  freedom." 

"  You  call  that  a  tragedy  ?  " 

"  Not  the  dream,"  he  answered,  "  but  the  awaken- 
ing. To  think  is  to  aspire,  to  think  is  to  long  for  im- 
mortality, for  infinite  development  upward  and  ever 
upward — for  eternal  life,  eternal  happiness,  eternal 
love.  These  are  the  dreams  of  thought.  And  the 
tragedy  is  that  they  are  but  dreams.  The  dreamer, 
pursuing  his  dream  to  prove  that  it  is  no  dream,  finds 
out  at  last  the  frightful  truth.  He  goes  to  the 
source  of  the  Soul,  makes  the  long  and  weary 
search  back  through  the  infinity  of  aimless  sequences 
into  which  man  used  to  read  intelligent  causation. 
He  comes  at  last,  not  to  the  laboratory  of  an  Infinite 
Intelligence,  but  to  the  idle  commotions  of  a  soulless, 
mindless,  inanimate  ocean.  The  same  idle  chance,  then, 
that  to-day  makes  those  oceans  fling  up  a  seed  into  a 
cleft  of  rock  and  start  what  may  become  a  verdant 
island  or  may  be  reduced  again  to  a  bare  rock,  as  chance 

216 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

directs.  The  microscope  resolves  the  dream  of  Imagina- 
tion into  this  trivial  and  purposeless  performance,  pro- 
ductive of  such  an  infinity  of  pain.  And  the  spectro- 
scope— By  means  of  it,  Imagination  rushes  at  the  speed 
of  light  through  the  universe,  and  finds  everywhere — 
what?  Precisely  the  same  materials  and  processes  that 
the  microscope  revealed;  the  same  fourscore  elements 
combining  and  recombining.  Infinity? — Yes.  But  an 
infinity  of  mindless  monotony.  And  human  life  itself 
with  all  its  variety  for  eyes  content  to  glance  only,  what 
do  history  and  the  kindred  sciences  disclose?  A  night- 
mare of  hate  and  fear  and  cruelty  and  murder,  inter- 
rupted here  and  there  with  the  splendid,  pitiful  dreams 
of  a  life  of  peace  beyond.  Imagination,  that  tragic 
accident,  is  discovering  that  the  universe  is  vast  in  size, 
but  in  size  only.  A  child  may  be  amused  for  an  hour 
with  a  kaleidoscope,  but  even  a  child  would  grow  tired 
of  it  soon.  Imagination,  searching  for  a  high  drama 
of  infinite  intelligence  and  profundity,  finds  that  it  is 
seated  at  a  kaleidoscope,  turned  by  blind  force  and 
capable  only  of  infinite  combinations  of  trivialities. 
Ignorance  can  wonder  and  worship,  but — what  is  there 
for  Intellect  but  despair  ?  " 

"  If  all  men  thought  as  you  do " 

"  But  they  will !  The  secret  is  out.  It  is  shouting 
from  the  house-tops.  One  brief  century  of  science,  and 
how  many  of  Imagination's  fondest  dreams  have  been 

217 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

destroyed,  destroyed  even  for  the  mass  of  men !  A  few 
generations  more,  and  will  not  all  men  see  that  the  uni- 
verse is  a  prison  and  a  grave  ?  " 

They  were  silent.  She  was  staring  at  the  vision  he 
had  conjured — the  infinite  loneliness  of  the  human  Im- 
agination, chance  by-product  of  a  universe  of  gross 
matter.  And  she  felt  so  utterly  alone,  felt  her  heart 
swelling  as  if  to  burst  with  passionate  longing  for  com- 
panionship, for  the  love  of  this  man  who,  too,  was  so 
utterly  alone.  He  was  gazing  at  her,  the  lithe,  the  in- 
tensely alive,  thrilling  and  throbbing  with  the  passion 
of  life,  radiating  it  as  a  sun  gives  off  light.  "  It  makes 
my  heart  ache  to  look  at  you,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice 
full  of  the  yearning  which  possessed  both.  "  The  most 
splendid  dream  of  Imagination  is — love.  And,  as  I  look 
and  love,  I  see  over  you  the  black  shadow  of  the  time 
when — when  there  shall  be  no  more  time  to  love." 

Her  color  rose,  and  her  outgiving  of  life  became  to 
him  the  pleasure  that  is  also  a  pain.  "  Time !  "  she  re- 
peated, dreamily.  "  You  forget  that  it  does  not  exist 
for  immortalities.  You  forget — immortality !  " 

"  But  that  was  the  last  scene  of  the  last  act  of  the 
tragedy.  When  Imagination  loves,  when  it  longs  to 
believe  that  the  love  is  eternal,  when  it  clings  most  pas- 
sionately to  its  dream  of  immortality — then,  the  awaken- 
ing, the  merciless  voice  of  Science  crying,  *  Death  is  the 
end ! '  You  remember  the  lovers  in  Dante — how,  though 

218 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

they  were  to  live  in  torment  forever,  they  were  happy 
because  they  were  to  live,  to  live  together,  forever.  But 
we — Not  even  in  pain,  not  at  all — not  at  all!  That  is 
why  I  have  had  the  courage  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you. 
That  is  why  I  have  told  you  my  belief  that  we  are  all 
under  sentence  of  speedy  and  eternal  death.  Let  us 
make  haste!  Let  us  save  what  we  can,  since  our  time 
is  so  short." 

She  turned  and  her  light  shone  full  upon  him. 
"  Grant  that  the  universe  is  a  prison,  that  the  Intellect 
is  an  accident,  and  still  I  say — Immortality !  " 

"If  I  could  believe  that!  I  don't  ask  that  it  be 
true,  but  only  to  believe  it  true." 

"  Assume  that  there  never  was  an  intelligence  in  the 
universe  until  the  human  mind  appeared,"  she  continued. 
"  It  has  appeared — there  is  an  intelligence  now.  It  is 
an  intelligence  that  grows,  that  develops.  And  out  of 
its  intelligent  knowledge  of  its  environment,  out  of  its 
acquaintance  with  chemical  conditions,  can  it  not,  will 
it  not,  evolve  immortality  for  itself?  " 

"But  how?" 

"  Death  is  the  executioner  of  the  Great  Prison. 
Why  wait  dumbly  until  he  has  struck  off  the  head? 
Why  should  not  the  Soul  plan  to  defeat  and  destroy 
him?  That  is  the  faith  I  stand  for!  You  say  there 
is  no  king  over  the  universe.  Then,  you'll  admit  no 
decree  has  gone  forth  fixing  the  limits  of  human  life,  of 

219 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

health  and  strength  and  youth.  Decay  and  age  are 
matters  of  chemistry — and  Intellect  is  learning  the  deep 
secret  of  chemistry.  The  duration  of  life  is  a  matter 
of  chance,  decided  by  environment,  you  say.  Why 
should  the  proud  Intellect  obey  the  mandates  of 
chance?  " 

Her  words  thrilled  him,  not  alone  because  it  was 
She  that  uttered  them,  but  also  because  She  in  her  own 
person  seemed  a  victorious  defiance  of  the  mandate  of 
mortality.  And  hope  sprang  up  in  him — that  hope 
which,  as  he  had  admitted,  Reason  was  unable  to  kill. 

"  You  have  seen  the  mind  expel  disease  from  the 
body,"  she  was  saying.  "  You  have  seen  that  some  liv- 
ing things  last  only  a  few  seconds  while  others  are  ages 
old  yet  still  young.  If  a  tree  can  live  a  thousand  years, 
why  not  a  man?  And  if  a  thousand  years,  why  not  a 
thousand  thousand  ?  " 

"  Death  is  a  fact  as  universal  as  life,"  he  said. 

"  Life — so  you  say — was  an  accident.  Why  not 
death  also  ?  And  why  not  abolish  it  ?  " 

"But  how?  But  how?"  he  repeated.  And  it 
seemed  to  him  She  could  answer  as  his  hope  longed. 

"  You  see,  do  you  not,"  she  urged  triumphantly, 
"  that  there  was  one  secret  you  overlooked,  one  secret 
that  has  thus  far  eluded  your  men  of  science  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted.  "  And  now  I  see,  too,  that 
science  has  given  us  glimpses  of  the  existence  of  that 

MO 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

secret.  Scientists  have  retarded  old  age  and  have 
lengthened  life  twenty  and  thirtyfold — but  only  in  the 
very  lowest  forms  of  living  things." 

"  A  beginning,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Yet  you,  eager 
to  despair,  did  not  realize  the  importance  of  those 
glimpses.  That  secret  is  The  Light." 

"  Your  followers  can  live  forever  ?  "  he  said — and, 
standing  there  in  that  dazzling,  mysterious  presence,  he 
did  not  say  it  in  incredulity. 

"  The  Light  has  not  yet  fully  revealed  itself  to 
us,"  she  answered,  "  but  it  shines  far  enough  into  the 
secret  to  show  us  that  the  Soul  can  make  us  im- 
mortal." 

"In  the  body?" 

"  What  immortality  is  there  without  the  body  ? 
Life  is  the  body.  And  on  your  own  showing  of  what 
the  mind  is  and  why  it  is,  will  it  not  merely  be  develop- 
ing its  natural  power  and  duty  to  the  highest  degree, 
when  it  learns  to  keep  itself  and  its  body  alive  forever? 
It  is  an  imperfect  servant  now,  just  as  the  hand  was 
imperfect  when  it  first  appeared  as  a  rudiment.  And 
what  is  the  mind  but  the  sum  of  these  five  senses  ?  Yes, 
life  in  the  body,  immortal  life  in  the  body !  "  She  drew 
herself  up  and  her  eyes  flashed.  "  To  feel  forever  the 
warmth  of  the  sun  and  the  keen  caresses  of  the  winter. 
To  feel  forever  youth  leaping  and  laughing  in  the  veins 
and  nerves.  To  hear  forever  beautiful  sounds — music 
15 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

and  voices.  To  delight  forever  in  the  flowers,  in  the 
grass,  in  the  living  bosom  of  the  earth.  To  taste — 
to  touch — to  see — above  all — to  see!  And  forever! — 
with  the  heart  forever  young ! " 

"  It  is  a  dream ! "  he  cried.  "  Do  not  torture  me 
with  it." 

"  It  is  a  reality !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  It  is  the  reality 
— that  reality  toward  which  all  the  discoveries  of  science 
tend.  Oh,  The  Light  teaches  us  that  our  instinct  which 
cries  out  against  death  as  an  evil  that  can  be  evaded, 
is  a  truer  wisdom  than  that  of  your  shallow  scientists 
ignorant  of  the  obvious  meaning  of  their  own  dis- 
coveries. When  the  universe  evolved  mind,  it  evolved  a 
master ! " 

"  But  the  master  is  still  far,  far  from  his  throne," 
he  said. 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  "  she  urged.  "  Why  do 
you  fight  against  hope,  good  hope?  How  can  the  per- 
fect will  ever  be  evolved  except  by  using  such  will  as 
you  now  have — by  using  it  to  command  with  all  its 
strength  the  death  of  Death  ?  " 

"  Some  day,  after  infinite  ages,"  he  admitted,  "  that 
might  produce  a  race  of  immortals." 

"  How  do  you  know  such  a  race  has  not  already  been 
produced  ?  "  she  persisted.  "  May  it  not  be  in  this  uni- 
verse now,  emancipated,  dwelling  upon  some  planet  which 
it  selected  as  best  suited  to  its  purposes,  some  planet  less 

222 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

subject  to  disturbances  than  this?  May  it  not  from 
there  be  trying  to  help  us  and  the  dwellers  on  other 
planets  who  are  as  benighted  as  we  are?  " 

"  Do  you  know — do  you  feel — that  this  is  so  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  I  know  that  he  who  has  the  perfect  will  shall  live 
forever." 

"  You  point  into  the  heavens,"  he  objected,  "  and 
say  '  See ! '  And  when  I  reply  that  I  see  nothing,  you 
answer,  '  True,  but  I  feel  that  there  must  be  or  ought  to 
be  something  there.  Let  us  think  that  we  see  it.' ' 
But  this  was  the  almost  mechanical  protest  of  his  scien- 
tific training.  In  fact,  he  had  passed  away  from  the 
universe  of  mortality  and  despair,  from  the  spell  of 
science.  He  was  in  Her  universe,  under  Her  spell.  Her 
voice,  her  beauty  in  the  soft,  rosy  glow  of  the  sunset, 
her  intoxicating  irradiation  of  vitality — what  mattered 
beside  these,  and  the  glory  of  the  present  moment,  with 
its  possibilities  of  perfect  joy?  "  I  do  not  know  what  I 
believe,"  he  said,  his  words  rushing  from  him.  "  I  do 
not  care  just  now.  All  I  know,  all  I  wish  to  know  is, 
that  to  live  is  to  love — you!  And  whether  life  must  be 
the  tragedy  I  fear  or  can  be  the  paradise  you  picture, 
still  love  is  best,  is  supreme.  And  whether  we  live  only 
a  few  minutes  or  an  eternity,  let  us  live  as  if  the  next 
minute  would  snatch  this  cup  of  happiness  from  us 
forever." 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

They  were  at  the  window,  submerged  together  in 
that  ocean  of  sunset  light  whose  million-colored  waves 
were  kissing  her  nerves  into  sensitiveness  beyond  endur- 
ance. And  the  impulse  which  had  mastered  her  again 
the  instant  she  saw  him,  him  the  magnetic  reality, 
standing  alone  among  the  kneeling  throng  on  the  lawns 
— that  impulse  was  now  storming  the  last  citadel  of  self- 
control.  She  did  not  dare  remain  with  him  in  that 
passionate  surge  of  light.  She  abruptly  turned,  went 
quickly  to  her  canopied  sofa. 

Her  face  was  calm,  but  in  the  quick  rise  and  fall 
of  her  bosom,  in  the  fact  that  she  listened  to  him,  he 
found  hope.  "  You  wrote  in  the  book  you  gave  me, 
'  The  law  of  The  Light  is  Love,'  "  he  said,  following 
her  and  standing  near  her.  "  Let  us  obey  that  law." 

Fiercer  raged  the  struggle,  the  Woman  insurgent 
against  the  Mother-Light,  Love  insurgent  against 
Faith.  "  You  must  go  now,"  she  said,  and  she  strove 
in  vain  to  make  her  tone  steady. 

"  Why  did  you  send  for  me  ?  "  he  asked,  leaning 
toward  her. 

She  shrank  into  the  deep  shadow  of  the  canopy. 
"  You  must  go,"  commanded  the  Mother-Light  firmly. 
"  You  will  come  again  ?  "  inquired  the  Woman,  wistfully. 

"  Until  I  come,  never  to  leave  you ! " 

If  he  could  have  seen  into  the  shadow,  he  would  have 
seen  a  look  that  was  like  a  leap  into  his  arms.  But  the 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

Mother-Light  was  able  to  forbid  the  Woman,  was  able 
to  say  to  him  calmly,  "  May  The  Light  shine  in  you ! " 

"  And  in  you,"  he  answered.  "  May  the  light  you 
have  made  to  shine  in  me  shine  in  you,  as  in  me.  The 
law  of  Love  is  the  true  Light !  You  see  it,  you  feel  it — 
and  you  can  not  deny." 

She  gave  no  sign  that  she  had  heard ;  her  hand  went 
swiftly  to  the  electric  button. 

Molly  appeared  instantly.  An  anxious  look  at  her 
cousin  and  she  sighed  with  relief — for,  his  face,  though 
almost  solemn  in  its  gravity,  showed  the  happiness  that 
is  deeper  than  smiles  and  laughter.  She  lingered  behind 
him  to  say  in  a  grateful  undertone  to  the  Mother-Light : 
"  Thank  you.  I  see  The  Light  beginning  to  shine  in 
him." 

But  the  Mother-Light  did  not  hear,  could  not  hear 
for  the  clamor  of  her  inward  battle.  When  he  was 
gone,  she  drew  a  long  breath,  whether  of  relief  or  of 
regret  she  could  not  have  told. 


225 


XVI 

SHE  had  let  a  passion-plant  spring  up  in  the  garden 
of  her  secret  self.  Now,  it  burst  from  the  secret  garden 
and  clambered  over  the  walls.  It  hung  its  tempting 
blossoms,  not  where  she  could  see  only  when  she  chose 
to  turn  aside  and  visit  the  garden,  but  where  she  could 
see  whenever  for  an  instant  she  lifted  her  eyes  from  the 
insistent  duties  and  devotions  of  her  religion.  And  if 
the  Mother-Light  frowned  and  looked  away,  the  Woman 
gazed  the  more  tenderly  and  longingly.  She  would 
have  fared  hardly  in  those  days — and  in  many  and  many 
a  day  thereafter — had  it  not  been  for  her  routine  of 
work,  insistent,  continuous,  irritating  to  soothe,  soothing 
to  heal.  The  routine  of  work — Life's  hospital  for  ailing 
minds  and  hearts. 

It  began  to  be  difficult  for  her  to  meet  or  to  bear 
Mr.  CasewelPs  eyes.  She  knew  how  deep  was  the  plunge 
of  that  glance;  and,  although  she  realized  that  when  it 
turned  upon  the  Mother-Light  it  was  hazed  by  adora- 
tion, still  she  watched  and  listened  for  the  first  sign 
that  he  had  discovered  her  secret.  Not  that  she  felt 
guilty ;  only  that  it  was  her  secret.  "  Am  I  not  the 
Mother-Light  ? "  she  assured  and  reassured  herself. 
"  Do  I  have  to  account  to  any  but  The  Light  ?  And 

226 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

has  it  bidden  me  uproot  this  love?  "  That  last  ques- 
tion she  could  not  answer  to  her  satisfaction.  Never 
had  The  Light  blazed  more  brilliantly  in  her ;  and  yet — 
"  If  I  am  not  to  impair  my  authority  and  the  faith 
itself,  must  I  not  remain  forever  alone  ?  "  Either  he  or 
The  Light  must  possess  her.  He  would  have  none  of 
her  faith;  The  Light  would  have  none  of  his  love. 

"  I  must  forget  him,"  commanded  the  Mother-Light. 
But  the  woman  pleaded  "  Wait !  " 

The  potent  physical  sense  of  his  physical  reality 
had  not  yet  begun  to  fade,  and  she  was  still  debating 
whether  to  yield  to  the  promptings  of  her  woman's  heart 
and  tell  Mr.  Casewell  in  the  hope  that  he  might  some- 
how help  her  to  peace  and  perhaps  happiness,  when  Eve- 
lyn Marshbanks,  a  missioner  of  the  English  Church, 
arrived  in  obedience  to  her  summons,  sent,  as  she  after- 
ward remembered,  at  Mr.  Casewell's  suggestion.  The 
Council  of  the  Church — The  Mother-Light  and  her  four 
apostles — wished  a  thorough  report  on  the  conditions  in 
England  before  deciding  the  question  of  a  vigorous 
propaganda  there. 

"  The  House  of  Pilgrims  is  full  just  now,"  said  Mr. 
Casewell,  the  morning  of  the  day  Miss  Marshbanks  was 
to  come.  "  We  shall  have  to  make  room  for  her  here." 

"  Why  not  put  her  in — the  apartment  opposite 
yours?  "  suggested  the  Mother-Light. 

Mr.  CasewelPs  eyes  flickered  for  an  instant  before 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

this,  her  first,  reference  to  the  rooms  that  had  been  ten- 
anted by  Maida  Hickman.  "  That  was  where  I  thought 
of  putting  her,"  he  said. 

The  next  day  she  received  the  Englishwoman — a 
slender,  handsome  girl  of  about  her  own  height  and 
figure  and  with  features  as  strongly  outlined.  But  there 
was  in  her  no  suggestion  of  that  will  which  saved  the 
beauty  and  sweetness  of  the  Mother-Light  from  even 
the  seeming  of  docility.  She  charmed  the  Mother-Light 
as  she  had  charmed  Mr.  Casewell  and  Hinkley  and  Floy- 
croft;  and  they  understood  at  once  why  that  earnest, 
eloquent  expression  and  that  low,  clear  voice  had  such 
power  from  pulpit  and  platform. 

That  night  the  Mother-Light  burst  from  a  profound 
sleep  and  sat  upright  in  her  bed.  The  perspiration  had 
made  her  thin  night-gown  wet;  her  body  was  shaking 
in  a  nervous  chill.  She  pressed  the  electric  button  and 
the  room  was  flooded  with  light.  With  blanched  face 
she  peered  out  through  the  curtains,  cautiously  and  care- 
fully round  and  round  the  room.  Apparently,  no  one 
was  there — but — What  might  not  be  concealed  behind 
some  one  of  the  big  pieces  of  furniture — or  in  one  of  the 
adjoining  rooms — or  in  one  of  the  several  private  pas- 
sages? 

At  the  last  suggestion,  the  dream  or  sub-conscious 
train  of  thought  that  had  awakened  her  like  an  explo- 
sion, suddenly  burst  again  into  her  mind.  And  she 

228 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

shrank  and  stared  with  wide  eyes  toward  the  doors  of 
the  salon. 

"  Has  he  brought  Evelyn  Marshbanks  to  put  her  in 
my  place?  Has  he  read  my  secret?  Am  I  to  join  Ann 
Banks?  "  And  the  scene  in  the  cellar  reenacted  before 
her  very  eyes,  only  it  was  herself  that  he  was  effacing 
now.  "  I  am  condemned  to  death ! "  she  exclaimed. 
Then — "  How  many  unfilled  graves  are  waiting — 
there  ?  "  And  upon  the  heels  of  this  thought  ran  one 
so  hideous  that  she  shuddered  and  hid  her  face  in  the 
pillow.  "  How  many  filled  graves?  How  many  candi- 
dates before  me  were  tried,  and  failed?  And  I  have 
let  him  put  her  in  my  old  apartment!  She  is  sleeping 
now  where  I  was  sleeping  when  Ann  Banks  was  suffer- 
ing here  as  I  am  suffering  now !  " 

She  sprang  from  the  bed  and  wrapped  herself  up  on 
the  lounge  in  the  corner  farthest  from  the  doors. 

Uncertain  in  conscience  about  Thorndyke,  ready  to 
suspect  Mr.  Casewell  of  having  found  her  out,  she  fell 
easy  prey  to  terror.  The  longer  her  unnerved  mind 
revolved  it,  the  more  probable  it  became — why,  Miss 
Marshbanks  must  be  the  very  woman  Mr.  Casewell  told 
her  they  had  in  mind  until  Hinkley  spoke  of  her. 
Hinkley !  The  thought  of  him,  her  old  friend,  com- 
forted her  for  a  moment.  Then  she  saw  in  fancy  those 
fanatic  eyes  of  his.  No — all,  all — Mr.  Casewell,  Hink- 
ley, Floycroft,  Tillinghast,  Molly  even — looked  on  her, 

229 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

on  themselves,  on  every  one  and  everything,  as  instru- 
ments for  The  Cause. 

The  Cause!  Deeper  than  any  reverence  for  the 
Mother-Light  was  that  passion.  And  with  Mr.  Case- 
well — what  would  he  do,  what  would  he  not  do,  if  he 
thought  The  Cause,  as  represented  by  this  great  and 
swiftly  growing  church  which  he  had  chiefly  built  up, 
was  imperiled  through  her?  And  in  the  air  above  her, 
like  vultures  squeaking  above  a  corpse,  began  to  wheel 
and  shriek  those  shrillings  of  Ann  Banks  at  Casewell 
which  she  had  overheard  in  the  rose-lighted  salon. 

Not  until  the  fantasy-breeding  night  was  over  did 
the  other  side  get  a  hearing.  Daylight  revived  to  her 
the  gentleness  of  the  natures  of  all  these  people.  They 
were  passionately  devoted  to  the  faith,  as  was  she  herself 
— was  she  not  for  its  sake  fighting  desperately  to  over- 
come and  to  cast  out  a  passion  whose  roots  were  in  the 
very  heart  of  her  heart?  But  in  them  all,  love  and 
gentleness  were  dominant — Except  where  the  faith  was 
concerned !  There  was  the  vital  point — and,  daylight  or 
night,  she  could  not  but  come  back  to  it.  What  crimes 
had  not  the  gentlest,  the  noblest,  the  purest  men  com- 
mitted for  their  faith?  Still,  this  was  the  twentieth 
century,  not  the  fifteenth — Yet  again,  through  the  cen- 
turies human  nature  persisted  unchanged  and  unchange- 
able. But  finally,  to  make  her  ashamed  of  herself  Mr. 
Casewell,  who  beyond  doubt  loved  her,  who  beyond  doubt 

230 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

was  the  frankest  and  simplest  of  men,  rose  before  her 
mind — How  considerate  he  was  of  her,  and — just  yes- 
terday she  had  caught  him  looking  at  her  with  an  ex- 
pression in  which  tenderness  and  reverence  were  beau- 
tifully mingled.  She  was  ashamed  of  herself,  but — She 
had  only  to  look  into  her  own  soul  to  realize  how  for  the 
sake  of  The  Cause  any  and  every  sacrifice  would  seem 
right.  She  could  lay  Love  upon  the  altar  and,  shud- 
dering but  with  steady  hand,  put  the  knife  to  its  throat ; 
why  should  she  think  them,  especially  her  First  Apostle, 
less  devoted  than  she? 

"  But,  I  am  the  Mother-Light !  "  she  reminded  her- 
self. And  then  she  remembered  that  Ann  Banks,  too, 
had  been  the  Mother-Light.  "  But  The  Light  is  not 
failing  in  me."  And  the  answer  came,  "  Yes,  you  know 
it,  but  Mr.  Casewell  may  not  think  so." 

She  saw  him  at  eleven  o'clock.  She  did  not  look 
at  him.  Presently,  she  said  carelessly,  ashamed  of  her- 
self as  she  said  it,  "  I've  changed  my  mind  about  having 
Miss  Marshbanks  here  in  the  Temple  of  Temples." 
She  told  herself  that  she  really  did  not  suspect  him,  yet 
she  was  closely  studying  his  face  by  way  of  a  mirror. 
Its  expression  drove  suspicion  from  her  mind.  She 
flushed  a  deep  crimson,  longed  for  some  way  to  make 
amends  for  her  crime  against  him. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said.  "  We  shall  send  her  to  the 
House  of  Pilgrims." 

231 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  No,"  said  the  Mother-Light.  "  Let  her  stay  where 
she  is.  I — it  was  an  impulse  that  has  passed." 

But  as  soon  as  she  was  alone  in  her  bed-room  that 
night,  she  bitterly  regretted  not  having  insisted.  Some- 
thing very  near  her  terror  of  the  night  before  seized 
her.  "  It  would  be  easy  completely  to  efface  me,"  she 
reflected.  "  The  Mother-Light  need  not  appear  again 
for  years.  It  wouldn't  be  thought  strange  should  he 
announce  that  she  had  shut  herself  in  and  would  see  no 
one  but  him."  And  then  she  brought  before  her  mind 
the  English  girl  as  she  had  appeared  at  the  Council  that 
day — yes,  Evelyn  Marshbanks  could  personate  the 
Mother-Light.  Her  self-control  fled  and  her  mind 
became  a  chaos  with  only  one  persistent,  clear  impulse 
— the  instinct  of  self-preservation. 

How  to  escape?  Even  if  she  was  suspecting  them 
unjustly  she  could  never  again,  she  told  herself,  feel 
the  old  security.  And  if  she  fled,  if  she  could  somehow 
contrive  to  elude  them — for,  they  must  be  guarding 
her — she  could  join  Thorndyke !  That  thought  was  like 
a  wide  rent  in  the  black  terror  with  the  sun  streaming 
through.  Thorndyke!  There,  security  and  happiness 
— there  only,  there  certainly.  "  I  love  him !  I  love 
him ! "  she  cried  out — her  first  unreserved  avowal  of 
the  secret  she  had  been  half-denying  to  herself.  "  I  love 
him ! "  she  repeated  and  flung  her  arms  wide. 

The  room  was  instantly  plunged  from  brilliant  light 
232 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

into  darkness.  And  she  felt  an  icy  wind  blowing  upon 
her  shoulders — as  if  from  an  opened  door.  She  shut 
her  teeth  hard  to  hold  back  a  scream.  "  If  I  must  die," 
she  muttered,  "  I  shall  not  show  what  a  coward  I  am." 

She  waited — nothing,  no  sound.  She  searched  for 
the  button  of  the  electric  bell.  Instead  of  touching  it, 
she  happened  on  the  light-switch ;  the  room  was  brilliant 
again.  She  understood — she  had  turned  off  the  light 
when  she  flung  out  her  arms ;  the  draught  was  from  a 
window  she  herself  had  opened  before  getting  into  bed. 

But  fear  was  rampant  now — fear  of  fanaticism,  of 
the  house  with  its  private  passages — and  graves.  She 
rang  for  Molly,  who  came  looking  childishly  young  and 
innocent,  in  pink  dressing-gown  over  white  night-gown, 
golden  hair  so  loose  it  was  almost  flying.  That  face, 
which  always  made  her  think  of  fresh  violets,  was  as  a 
rush  of  dawn  for  scattering  the  ugly,  noiseless,  elusive 
bats  of  fear.  "  I  feel  lonely  to-night,"  said  she, 
ashamed  but  determined.  "  Won't  you  sleep  here — in 
the  bed?  I'll  take  a  cot  in  my  dressing-room." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Molly.     "  I'll  sleep  there." 

"  No — in  my  bed,"  she  insisted. 

"  I— dare  not,"  said  Molly.  "  It  is  the  bed  of— the 
Mother-Light."  And  she  performed  the  ceremonial  of 
the  name. 

The  Mother-Light  saw  that  it  was  idle,  and  worse, 
to  reason  against  this  religious  feeling.  "  I  shall  sleep 

233 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

in  my  dressing-room,"  she  said — it  had  no  passages  and 
only  one  door.  "  If  you  won't  sleep  in  the  bed " 

"  I'll  stop  here,"  Molly  broke  in,  going  to  the  sofa. 
"  It's  far  more  comfortable  than  that  cot  in  the  dress- 
ing-room." 

They  made  the  sofa  into  a  couch  with  the  linen 
from  the  cot.  When  Molly  was  comfortably  settled,  the 
Mother-Light  returned  to  her  bed,  less  than  its  own 
length  distant  from  the  sofa.  They  both  slept — but 
she  did  not  turn  off  the  night  lamp. 

Fear  did  not  return,  but  neither  did  suspicion  leave. 
The  thorn  had  appeared  in  her  splendor;  it  had  come 
to  stay.  And  the  more  her  passion  for  the  faith  grew, 
the  more  keenly  she  realized  the  possibilities  of  such  a 
passion  turned  against  herself.  She  did  not  suspect  any 
of  them,  she  told  herself — they  must  feel,  must  know, 
that  she  was  indeed  the  Mother-Light.  Still,  she,  as  the 
Mother-Light,  must  jealously  guard  the  faith  against 
possibilities  of  danger  through  false  zeal  or  ambition. 
"  I  do  not  suspect,  but  I  must  be  watchful." 

When  Miss  Marshbanks  left,  she  still  did  not  feel  re- 
lieved. "  Has  she  really  gone  ?  "  she  thought.  "  I  must 
wait,  must  not  relax  my  vigilance,  until  I  know  she  is 
back  in  Liverpool." 


234 


XVII 

ABOUT  a  week  after  Miss  Marshbanks  had  her  fare- 
well audience,  the  Mother-Light  and  the  First  Apostle 
were  alone  in  the  salon  after  the  morning  council.  He 
paused  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence,  gave  a  sharp  cry, 
pitched  forward  upon  the  table  between  them.  She 
tried  to  lift  him  but  could  not.  She  was  rushing  toward 
the  door  to  summon  Hinkley  from  the  ante-room  when 
he,  still  prostrate,  called  in  a  voice  which  seemed  to  come 
direct  from  his  mind  instead  of  from  his  lips  and  throat : 
"  Stop !  Lock  the  doors !  No  one  must  know !  " 

She  hesitated,  looking  at  him.  By  one  of  those  in- 
explicable exertions  of  the  will  he  all  in  an  instant  re- 
sumed control  of  his  body  and  lashed  back  to  its  lair  the 
disease  which  had  reached  for,  and  almost  strangled,  his 
soul.  "  Help  me ;  heal  me,  Mother-Light !  "  he  prayed, 
an  appeal  that  was  also  an  imperious  command,  like 
the  call  of  a  drowning  man  to  one  he  knows  can  save 
him. 

And  there  entered  her  the  strength  to  stretch  out 
her  right  arm  over  him  and  the  voice  to  say,  "  May 
The  Light  shine  in  you ! " 

A  swift,  frightful  final  struggle;  he  was  sitting, 
235 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

calm,  but  ash-gray,  in  the  position  from  which  he  had 
fallen.  "  Please  lock  the  door,"  he  said. 

She  obeyed  him. 

His  eyes  sent  her  to  her  seat  opposite  him.  He  did 
not  speak  but  looked  at  her  dully,  a  blue-black  bag 
swelling  slowly  under  each  eye.  Presently  he  had  to 
grind  his  teeth  and  clench  his  fists  to  keep  back  another 
cry  of  agony.  "  I  shall  conquer  this  evil  thought  in  a 
moment,"  he  said  as  soon  as  he  could  venture  to  relax  his 
muscles  a  little.  And  he  did  seem  to  grow  rapidly  bet- 
ter. He  went  on  with  their  business ;  when  it  was  fin- 
ished, instead  of  gathering  together  the  checks  and 
letters  which  she  had  signed,  he  leaned  forward,  resting 
upon  his  elbows.  "  I  had  not  intended  starting  till  next 
week,"  he  began.  "  With  your  permission,  I'll  start 
to-day." 

"  You  must  not  go  until — "  She  was  unable  to 
finish.  For,  in  anticipation  of  the  end  of  her  sentence, 
of  the  suggestion  that  he  was  not  well,  his  eyes  were 
ablaze — the  fanatic  at  sight  of  a  sacrilegious  hand  raised 
against  his  god. 

Her  impulse  of  resentment  against  that  look  vanished 
when  she  saw  how  he  was  suffering,  crying  out  to  himself 
the  while,  "  I  do  not  suffer.  It  is  only  an  evil  thought,  an 
imp  of  The  Darkness."  Before  she  could  resume,  he 
said :  "  I  think,  when  I  shall  have  explained,  you  will 
bid  me  go.  I  have  a  leading  from  The  Light  that  I 

236 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

must  make  haste  and  finish  my  tour  of  the  churches  or  it 
will  never  be  finished." 

She  understood  him  now,  and  the  suspicions  that  had 
been  lurking  in  her  mind  for  weeks  fled  in  wild  rout  be- 
fore a  wave  of  affection  and  sorrow. 

"  The  Light  is  calling  me  to  another  field,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  My  soul  seems  to  be  wearying  of  this  body 
which  was  old  in  sin  before  The  Light  shone  into  it.  Yes, 
my  soul  is  as  unhappy  in  this  worn-out  house  as  a  king  in 
rags." 

"  But  you  must  not  go,"  she  burst  out.  "  We  can 
not  do  without  you.  What  am  7  without  you  ?  " 

"  You  are  the  Mother-Light,"  he  said,  reverently. 
"  You  are  the  visible  flame  on  the  altar." 

"  But  you  are  the  priest  that  guards  the  flame." 

"  No.  I  am  merely  one  who  helped  to  lift  up  the 
flame.  But  it  is  exalted  now.  It  grows  in  glory  day 
by  day." 

She  lowered  her  eyes — how  unworthy  of  her,  of  her 
high  mission,  of  his  adoration,  typical  of  the  adoration 
of  scores  of  thousands  for  her,  seemed  the  passion  the 
Woman  in  her  would  not  release. 

"It  is  only  because  you  must  be  forewarned  of  my 
going  and  assured  that  I  have  been  called  by  The  Light, 
that  I  speak  of  it  to  you.  Then — there  are  several  other 
matters.  First — my  successor.  Do  not  appoint  him 

until  you  have  tested  both  Hinkley  and  Floycroft.   They 
16  237 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

are  equally  faithful,  but  there  is  in  Hinkley  a  remnant 
of  The  Darkness — some  passion — some  woman  unfor- 
gotten,  I  suspect.  And  that  mars  his  judgment  at  times, 
gives  him  hours  and  days  of  self-torture.  All  we  who 
have  large  capacities  for  emotion  know  how  hard  it 
sometimes  is  to  keep  the  will  to  the  one  channel,  the 
faith.  Each  of  us  has  a  tremendous  force  in  him — 
equally  tremendous  no  matter  what  it  is  directed  at ;  the 
fight  is  to  hold  it  single-heartedly  to  the  great  work." 

She  did  not  dare  look  at  him,  to  see  whether  he  was 
counseling  her  under  the  pretext  of  analyzing  Hinkley. 

"  The  other  matter,"  he  continued,  "  is  Molly." 

His  voice  broke  a  little  upon  that  name,  and  once 
more  she  realized  what  his  calm  cheerfulness  was  mak- 
ing her  forget.  She  hid  her  face.  "  You  must  not  go — 
father ! "  she  pleaded,  "  My  more  than  father.  You 
must  not  leave  Molly  and  me." 

He  gently  stroked  her  hair.  "  Let  us  not  forget 
that  we  are  children  of  The  Light,"  he  said.  "  We  must 
not  weep  and  moan  like  the  hopeless  people  of  The  Dark- 
ness. I  leave  Molly  to  you.  And  I  venture  to  tell  you 
her  secret,  but  she  must  not  know  I  told  you.  She  is  in 
love.  She  loves  her  cousin — Doctor  Thorndyke." 

The  Mother-Light  lifted  her  head.  "  Thorndyke !  " 
she  exclaimed. 

"  I  know,"  continued  Mr.  Casewell,  "  that  he  is  not 
yet  of  The  Light.  But  I  think  he  will  become  one  of  us. 

238 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

Of  course,  if  he  does  not,  Molly  will  put  him  out  of  her 
life.  She  is  first  of  all  a  child  of  The  Light.  But  his 
love,  when  he  can  give  her  the  love  that  The  Light  sanc- 
tifies, will  make  her  very,  very  happy — and  I  feel  that 
it  will  be  granted  to  her." 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Maida,  burying  her  face  in  her  arms. 
"  Oh — oh !  "  And  her  form  was  shaken  by  her  sobs. 

"  But  she  will  not  leave  you,"  said  the  old  man 
soothingly,  misunderstanding  her — so  she  thought  at 
the  time,  though  afterward  she  was  not  sure.  "  If  she 
ever  marries  him,  it  will  be  because  she  has  brought  him 
to  you.  But  I  must  go — "  He  knelt  before  her — 
"  Your  blessing,  Mother-Light !  " 

She  slowly  regained  outward  control  of  herself. 
When  she  saw  his  face,  the  fire  of  faith  that  lit  it  and 
transfigured  it  and  streamed  from  it  seemed  suddenly  to 
rekindle  in  her  the  fainting  flame  of  the  Mother-Light. 
She  rose  and  stretched  her  arms  over  him  and  gave  him 
the  benediction.  "  The  Light,"  she  said  in  tones  of  con- 
viction, "  shall  shine  in  you  ever !  " 

"  Amen !  Amen !  "  he  responded  in  that  deep  voice 
which  had  called,  and  led,  thousands  to  the  faith.  He 
stood,  hesitated,  then  took  her  face  between  his  great 
white  hands  and  kissed  her  brow.  "  The  Cause,  my 
child,  always  The  Cause!  Be  strong  in  The  Light! 
Be  strong  for  The  Light ! " 

And  he  was  gone. 

239 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

She  sat  a  long  time,  looking  straight  ahead  of  her. 
Then  she  went  to  her  bed-room  and  locked  herself  in. 
She  knelt.  "  At  last,  at  last,  I  do  believe ! "  she  cried. 

Instantly  she  felt  an  enormous  exaltation,  as  if  a 
pure  fire  had  consumed  her  longing  for  Thorndyke  and 
all  other  human  passions,  weaknesses  and  evils  within  her 
and  had  taken  up  its  abode  there  forever. 

"  I  am  the  Mother-Light ! "  she  sobbed,  in  an  ec- 
stacy,  not  of  pride  but  of  humility. 

Soon,  the  reports  from  the  First  Apostle's  mission 
began  to  come  in — from  city  to  city  he  was  journeying, 
his  eloquence  like  a  blazing  torch  among  tinder.  Never 
before  did  any  missioner  show  such  power,  have  such  re- 
sponse. And  as  the  Mother-Light  read,  her  conviction 
deepened,  and  the  sense  of  divinity  entempled  within 
her  became  the  fixed  habit  of  her  mind,  the  fixed  instinct 
of  her  heart.  And  the  seeming  of  divine  majesty,  with 
which  those  about  her  had  invested  her  chiefly  because 
of  her  position,  now  became  an  actuality,  saturating  her 
atmosphere  even  for  those  who  saw  her  oftenest,  as  the 
perfume  of  a  June  garden  saturates  the  air  after  a 
rain. 

Chicago  was  the  last  of  the  cities  in  the  First  Apos- 
tle's tour.  He  preached  to  twelve  thousand  there,  ending 
with  these  sentences :  "  The  Light  calls  me  to  another 
field.  I  shall  see  you  no  more.  But  I  leave  my  words  as 

240 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

witness  that  there  is  no  death  to  those  who  are  perfect 
in  faith  in  The  Light !  "  His  hearers  and  the  whole 
Church  of  The  Light  soon  understood  what  he  had 
meant.  For,  he  left  the  hall,  returned  to  his  hotel,  dis- 
appeared utterly.  The  clothing  he  had  last  worn  was 
found  in  his  sitting-room  in  strips,  as  if  it  had  been  torn 
from  him  as  lightning  tears  the  bark  from  the  tree. 

When  the  Chicago  church  telegraphed  the  facts  to 
the  Mother-Light,  she  sent  for  Molly.  "  Molly,"  she 
said,  drawing  her  into  her  arms,  "  your  grandfather  has 
been  summoned." 

She  felt  the  girl  tremble,  then  grow  steady  again. 
"  He  has  gone  ?  "  she  asked,  very  white. 

"  He  is  in  The  Light,"  replied  the  Mother-Light. 

"  It  is  well  with  him,"  said  Molly.  And  she  smiled — 
if  the  will  and  the  features  can  together  make  a  smile, 
without  the  aid  of  the  heart.  Then  she  sobbed — once. 
"  I  can't  help  it,"  she  apologized.  "  He  has  sailed  away 
— as  if  to  Europe — and  as  I  stand  on  the  pier,  I  can't 
help — and  when  I  see  him  again  I  shall  be  happy.  That's 
all."  From  the  doorway,  she  smiled  bravely — and  was 
not  seen  again  for  two  days. 

Hinkley  came  to  the  Mother-Light,  in  great  anxiety, 
because  the  Chicago  church  had  hastened  to  make  proc- 
lamation of  a  miracle.  "  If  some  trace  of  him  should 
be  found,"  he  said. 

"  No  trace  will  be  found,"  answered  the  Mother- 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

Light,  before  her  eyes  the  First  Apostle's  face  as  she  had 
last  seen  it.  And  no  trace  was  found.  The  disappear- 
ance remained  a  marvel  to  "  The  Darkness  "  and  a 
miracle  to  the  "  children  of  The  Light." 

At  first  she  was,  sometimes  waking,  oftener  sleeping, 
haunted  by  a  vision  of  an  old  man  going  away  in  secrecy 
to  some  obscure,  miserable  place  to  die  alone  for  "  The 
Cause."  And  this  invested  him  for  her  with  a  super- 
human nobility  of  martyrdom — for,  to  what  a  height  of 
self-immolation  he  had  risen  in  thus  giving  himself  to 
preserve  for  others  a  salvation  which  was  denied  to  him ! 
Nor  was  her  exalted  conception  of  him  shaken  when  she 
long  afterward  accidentally  learned  that  Evelyn  Marsh- 
banks  had  not  sailed  for  home  by  the  announced  steamer 
but  had  been  privately  detained,  on  his  orders,  in  New 
York ;  and  that  he  had  not  given  her  leave  to  sail  until 
the  day  he  was  stricken. 

"  He  was  right — a  thousand  times  right,"  she  said 
to  herself,  after  thinking  over  all  the  involvements 
of  this  discovery.  "And  he  probably  did  not  himself 
know  why  he  was  detaining  her,  but  acted  on  a  leading 
from  The  Light."  She  reminded  herself  that  the  day 
he  was  stricken,  the  day  he  had  released  Evelyn  Marsh- 
banks,  was  also  the  day  on  which  she  had  for  the  first 
time  let  The  Light  take  full  possession  of  her.  "  Not 
because  he  was  stricken  but  because  I  yielded  myself, 
am  I  permitted  to  stay,"  she  concluded.  "  If  I  had  not 

242 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

yielded,  The  Light  would  not  have  left  me  here  to  be- 
tray the  faith." 

This  became  a  conviction ;  and  it  set  her  on  to  re-ex- 
amine all  the  facts  about  his  going.  And  she  soon  be- 
came convinced  that  unfaith  had  tempted  her  into  the  sin 
of  doubting  the  validity  of  his  summons,  of  attributing 
to  clever  contrivance  what  was  in  truth  miracle.  She 
straightway  understood  why  she  had  latterly  been  so 
much  stronger  both  in  the  faith  and  for  it.  "  From  his 
new  dwelling  place,"  she  said,  "  he  has  been  reaching  out 
to  me  and  aiding  me."  And,  now  that  she  saw  it,  she 
was  amazed  that  she  had  been  so  blind.  Did  not  the 
throngs  of  plans  for  the  Church  that  had  been  spring- 
ing into  her  brain  day  by  day  bear  each  the  stamp  of 
the  unmistakable  individuality  of  the  First  Apostle? 

Thereafter,  in  her  most  exalted  moods,  she  could 
almost  hear  his  voice  as  his  soul  transmitted  its  thoughts 
to  her  soul. 


243 


xvni 

.  IN  the  Hall  of  The  Light,  before  the  colossal  statue 
of  Health,  there  was  now  a  pyramid  of  discarded  em- 
blems of  disease — crutches  and  canes;  braces  and  band- 
ages of  leather,  of  wood,  of  iron;  helps  to  deaf  and  to 
blind;  medical  and  surgical  appliances  of  many  kinds. 
And  daily  before  this  monument  to  the  faith  knelt  pil- 
grims from  far  and  near.  When  the  Mother-Light 
drove,  in  the  most  secluded  parts  of  the  park,  her  horses 
rushing  along  that  she  might  not  be  gaped  at,  she 
usually  passed  several  reverent  groups,  often  many 
kneeling.  Her  mail  was  heavy  with  proofs  of  her  fame 
and  power — eulogies,  prayers,  gifts  of  money,  notifica- 
tions of  bequests.  Month  by  month  her  open  adherents 
were  increasing  by  hundreds,  by  thousands.  And  the 
most  of  them  were  of  the  "  educated  "  classes,  especially 
of  the  well-off,  loving  life,  shrinking  from  pain,  hoping 
that  through  The  Light  they  might  at  least  put  some- 
what farther  away  the  end  of  an  estate  they  found  so 

satisfactory.     And  she 

The  Mother-Light  was  the  spiritual  autocrat  of  these 
people,  the  beacon  of  their  hope,  and  its  bulwark.  Every 
moment  of  every  day  the  incense  of  adoration  was  in  her 

244 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

nostrils,  and  the  tangible  evidence  of  the  validity  of  her 
exalted  mission  and  of  its  implicit  acceptance  was  before 
her  eyes.  Whatever  view  of  herself  she  caught,  it  was 
always  an  image  of  the  Mother-Light.  To  doubt  her 
divinity  was  to  think  herself  mad  and  also  the  whole  of 
the  world  which  she  saw.  To  dispute  it  was  to  dispute 
the  testimony  of  her  senses  and  of  her  soul  and  of  the 
senses  and  souls  of  more  than  three  hundred  thousand 
enlightened  human  beings. 

She  felt  that  the  Woman  would  never  lift  in  her 
again,  that  the  Mother-Light  was  secure  from  that  power 
which  The  Darkness  had  so  insidiously  sought  to  retain 
over  her  through  Thorndyke.  She  reflected  calmly  on 
what  Mr.  Casewell  had  told  her,  and  debated  her  duty 
to  Molly.  And  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  must  see  him 
again  for  Molly's  sake,  must  uproot  the  hopes  she  had 
planted.  "  Then,"  she  reasoned,  "  his  heart  will  natu- 
rally turn  to  her."  And  the  fact  that  this  thought  gave 
her  no  pang  seemed  to  her  proof  conclusive  that  the 
Woman  was  dead. 

"  When  your  cousin  comes  again,"  she  said  to  Molly, 
"  I  should  like  to  see  him." 

The  sudden  luminousness  of  Molly's  face  was  in  sig- 
nificant contrast  to  the  pensive  expression  it  had  worn 
for  a  long  time.  "  He  hasn't  been  here  lately,"  she  said, 
in  a  tone  that  smote  upon  the  Mother-Light's  conscience. 
"Shall  I  send  for  him?  " 

245 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

The  Mother-Light  reflected.  "  Ask  him  to  come  to 
see  you,"  she  finally  said. 

Molly  flushed  painfully. 

"  Or,  if  you  prefer,  say  I  wish  to  see  him  about  your 
affairs,"  continued  the  Mother-Light,  not  letting  Molly 
see  that  she  had  made  the  suggestion  because  she  had 
noted  and  had  understood  her  confusion. 

It  was  on  the  following  Saturday  that  Molly  took 
Thorndyke  to  the  private  garden  of  the  Mother- 
Light,  and  to  her  presence,  and  left  him  alone  before 
her. 

When  he  could  trust  himself  to  look,  his  heart  sank 
before  the  hopeless  gulf  between  him  and  Her  as  she  sat 
there,  a-glow  to  him  with  the  unearthly  radiance  of  the 
immortal  gods  and  young  with  their  agelessness.  Her 
eyes  were  gazing  straight  ahead,  in  her  face  an  inscrut- 
able expression. 

She  did  not  ask  him  to  sit ;  she  did  not  give  him  the 
salutation.  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you  here,"  she  began,  and 
her  voice  came  from  a  far  other-shore.  "And  I  hope 
you  will  come  often — especially  nowadays.  You  are  a 
great  help — a  great  help  in  a  most  trying  time — to  my 
brave  friend,  your  cousin.  All  her  other  relatives,  as 
you  know,  have  held  aloof  from  her  because  of  her  and 
her  grandfather's  faith.  You  have  stood  by  her — and 
— she  is  very  lonely,  I  know,  though  she  is  too  unselfish 
to  show  it." 

246 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

And  the  Mother-Light  stealthily  drew  a  long  breath, 
as  of  self-congratulation  at  having  repeated  without 
mistake  a  carefully  learned  lesson. 

"  I  thank  you,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  certainly  come  as 
often  as  I  can.  My  cousin  is  very  dear  to  me — my 
dearest  friend,  dear  as  a  sister." 

The  Woman  startled  the  Mother-Light  here  by 
lifting  radiantly  to  exclaim :  "  He  does  not  love  her !  " 
And  then  the  Mother-Light  realized  that  her  real  rea- 
son, her  deep,  unconscious  reason,  for  sending  for  him 
had  been  to  reassure  the  Woman's  human  heart  with  its 
longings — and  its  jealousy.  But  it  was  with  the  Woman 
in  check  that  she  said  aloud,  formally :  "  Then  you 
will  come  again  soon  ?  "  and  bowed  formally,  to  indicate 
that  the  interview  was  at  an  end.  The  Woman  had 
cheated  the  Mother-Light  with  the  pretense  of  death; 
but  the  Mother-Light  was  resolved  that  the  treachery 
should  not  triumph.  He  would  go;  the  Woman  would 
be  inexorably  crushed  down,  would  never  be  permitted 
to  see  him  again. 

But  he  did  not  go.  He  stood  looking  directly  at  her, 
directly  into  her  face  which  seemed  to  him  to  shine  by 
its  own  light.  And  through  all  his  nerves  her  voice  was 
tingling,  giving  him  a  sense  of  happiness  ineffable  about 
to  escape  if  he  did  not  seize  it.  "As  I  told  you,"  he  said 
rapidly,  "  it  makes  my  heart  ache  to  look  at  you,  and  it 
seems  to  me  now,  with  the  long,  long  night  of  eternity 

247 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

rushing  toward  us,  that  its  endless  sleep  will  be  cursed 
for  us  both  with  a  bitter  dream  of  regret — regret  for 
the  happiness  we  are  missing,  the  happiness  that  would 
freight  each  wonderful  moment.  How  many  minutes 
we  have  known  each  other !  How  many  minutes  we  have 
lost — forever!  And  how  few,  how  pitifully  few,  would 
be  all  our  minutes  together — those  we  could  have  had 
added  to  those  we  yet  have." 

Her  face  was  impassive,  but  her  bosom  rose  and  fell 
swiftly  under  the  gauze  of  her  white  and  gold  robe ;  and 
with  mingled  terror  and  delight  she  felt  her  soul  be- 
ginning to  sway  in  the  first  blasts  of  the  storm  of  prime- 
val instinct  which  the  sight  of  him  never  failed  to  rouse. 

"  Loneliness !  "  he  exclaimed.  "All  this  " — and  he 
waved  his  arm,  indicating  garden  and  Temple  of  Tem- 
ples, the  luxury  within  it,  the  power  and  the  splendor  of 
the  Mother-Light — "  all  this  will  not  shut  out  loneliness 
— It  will  only  make  you  more  and  ever  more  alone.  You 
in  your  garden,  I  in  my  toil,  the  beggar  in  his  hovel,  the 
king,  yes,  the  great  God  himself — all,  of  every  condi- 
tion, can  be  only  wretched  if  alone." 

"  I  will  not  hear !  "  she  protested,  starting  up. 

"  You  have  heard,"  he  retorted.  "  You  cannot  for- 
get. Alone,  I  say,  forever  alone — and  the  eternal  sleep 
of  death  tortured  by  the  dream  of  what  might  have  been 
and  was  not — the  happiness  you  could  have  given  and 
could  have  had." 

248 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  You  forget  my  faith,"  she  cried — the  appeal  of 
the  Mother-Light  to  the  Woman. 

"  No,  I  do  not  forget,"  he  replied.  And  he  stretched 
his  arms  toward  her.  "  But  I — and  your  heart — speak 
in  the  name  of  an  instinct  stronger  than  religion,  one 
that  was  ages-old  at  the  first  gleam  of  superstition.  The 
other  day  I  watched  a  miserable  insect,  about  the  hum- 
blest of  creatures,  watched  it  charging  a  line  of  poison 
that  lay  across  its  path.  It  charged  again  and  again. 
The  poison  burned  and  shriveled  it.  God!  how  the 
wretched  thing  must  have  suffered!  But  it  rushed  on 
again  and  again,  and  crawled  and  writhed  through  that 
barrier  of  death-by-torture — and  fell  dead,  a  twisted, 
shapeless  ash.  Why  did  that  miserable  thing,  the  lowest 
of  the  low,  dare  agony  and  death?  I  will  tell  you.  Be- 
cause on  the  other  side,  making  a  faint  call,  lay  its  mate ! 
That  was  why — its  mate!  The  instinct  that  began 
with  the  beginning  of  the  universe — the  instinct  that 
makes  two  atoms  of  matter  rush  together  with  a  force 
that  could  rend  a  mountain.  Your  faith  ?  It — all  faiths 
were  born  of  the  longing  of  love  for  immortality.  And 
but  for  love's  longings  they  would  die.  And  I  care  not 
who  you  are  or  what  you  are  or  what  you  have,  material 
or  spiritual — your  heart  calls  to  mine  and  I  must  obey." 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms ;  her  face  turned  upward ; 
their  lips  met.  "  It  is  too  strong  for  me,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  I,  a  woman,  need  you,  a  man."  She  freed 

249 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

herself,  clung  to  him,  freed  herself  again,  then  linger- 
ingly  pushed  him  from  her.  "  Oh,  what  have  I  done !  " 
she  cried.  "  What  shall  I  do !  " 

For  answer  his  arms  went  round  her  again,  his  lips 
went  to  hers.  "  One  thing  we  must  both  do,"  he  said. 
"  We  must  love.  Ah — you — all  of  you  drinks  in  the 
light  and  gives  it  out  again  as  life !  With  my  arms  round 
you,  I  feel  that  I,  too,  am  immortal,  as  you  are." 

She  drew  away  to  arm's  length  and  looked  at  him, 
her  hands  wandering  over  his  shoulders,  her  fingers  play- 
ing upon  his  nerves  as  upon  the  key-board  of  a  musical 
instrument.  "  How  strong  you  are !  "  she  said. 

"  How  strong  love  is,"  he  answered,  "  given  the  right 
woman ! " 

"  The  right  woman,  and  the  right  man,"  she  mur- 
mured, between  their  caresses. 

Suddenly  she  lifted  her  head  with  the  motion  and 
look  which  throughout  the  animal  kingdom  denotes  that 
a  shadow  has  drifted  into  the  sunshine  of  security. 

"  There  is  no  one,"  he  assured  her,  in  reply  to  her 
swift  glance  all  around.  "  But  if  there  were — "  He 
looked  defiance  down  the  silent,  blossom-walled,  blossom- 
roofed  aisles  of  her  enchantment-like  garden. 

"  You  don't  understand — you  forget,"  she  inter- 
rupted, her  hands  pressed  against  her  heart.  "And  there 
is — was — some  one.  You  must  go — immediately.  No — 
no — not  again  " — as  he  tried  to  draw  her  into  his  arms — 

250 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  I  have  sinned  enough  for  this  day.  I  hope  I  alone  can 
pay  the  price.  Go !  Go !  I  must  think — I  must  reflect 
— I  will  send  for  you — But  go — for  our  sake — for  my 
sake — go !  " 

Her  manner  convinced  him.  It  was  not  the  panic  of 
hysteria  but  courage  measuring  a  real  and  great  and 
imminent  danger.  It  brought  him  back  to  the  mystery 
of  those  surroundings,  back  under  the  shadow  of  the 
dread  and  awe  in  that  stillness  and  beauty.  He  seized 
her  hands,  pressed  them  together,  enclosed  them  in  his. 
"  It  is  a  pledge,"  he  said.  "  You  will  send  for  me?  " 

"  Yes — yes — how  can  you  doubt  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  do  not  doubt,"  he  answered.  "And  remember, 
there  is  no  barrier  that  will  not  fall  before  your  will  and 
mine !  "  He  was  thrilling  with  delight  at  the  thought 
that  she  was  apart  from  the  mystery  now,  was  with  him, 
was  regarding  whatever  of  menace  it  might  contain  as  a 
menace  to  their  common  hope  and  resolve. 

Her  eyes  were  swimming  as  they  looked  love  and 
trust  into  his.  And  she  felt  their  souls,  mingled  like  a 
harmony,  soaring  upward  into  that  resplendent  infinity 
of  sunshine  and  saturated  with  its  intoxicating  light. 
"  My  love !  "  she  sighed,  slowly  freeing  herself. 

When  he  reached  the  end  of  the  aisle,  he  turned  for 
a  last  look  at  her.  She  was  standing  in  the  luminous 
shadow  of  the  spreading  tree;  she  was  watching  him 
with  a  look  which  so  burned  her  into  his  memory  that 

251 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

she  continued  to  live  before  him  when  he  could  no  longer 
see  her,  as  the  light  lingers  upon  the  eyes  after  one  has 
gone  into  the  darkness. 

And  his  presence  lingered  for  her  too,  persisting 
defiantly  in  the  gloom  of  the  thoughts  that  soon  en- 
shrouded her.  "  Who  was  it?  "  she  wondered,  going  back 
to  that  instinct  of  a  third  person  somewhere  among  those 
screens  of  leaves  and  flowers.  "  Molly  ?  "  No,  Molly 
would  never  transgress  the  rule  against  intruding  upon 
the  Mother-Light's  privacy.  Then,  Hinkley  ? — or  Floy- 
croft?  Before  her  mind  they  rose — Hinkley,  the  blaz- 
ing-eyed, with  his  two  consuming  passions ;  Floycrof t, 
an  ascetic  monk,  Mr.  Casewell's  right-hand  man,  surely 
the  depository  of  any  secret  instructions  the  original 
apostle  of  The  Light  might  have  left  as  a  safeguard. 
Were  Hinkley  and  Floycroft  watching  her — her  actions 
— ready  to  conspire  against  her  if  their  fanaticism 
should  command  it? 

"  I  must  be  free  of  them,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  never 
be  at  ease  until  I  am  surrounded  only  by  those  whom  I 
have  lifted  up — except,  of  course,  Molly." 

Molly!  That  name  dropped  her  from  the  heavens 
as  a  shot  a  soaring  bird.  How  could  she  face  Molly 
now!  How  could  she  face  herself!  She,  the  Mother- 
Light  ;  and  she  had  polluted  the  high  altar  of  the  Faith ! 
He  was  gone ;  the  touch  of  his  voice,  of  his  glance,  of  his 
hands  and  lips,  was  no  longer  vibrating  her  nerves.  But 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

the  Faith  remained.  "  Yes,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  there 
was  a  third  here — there  is  !  "  And  Thorndyke  was  no 
longer  there  to  create  with  her  that  magnetic  circle 
through  which  the  third,  the  Messenger  from  The  Light, 
could  not  penetrate  to  her. 

She  knelt,  she  prostrated  herself  to  receive  the  Mes- 
senger. And,  as  she  felt  eyes  fiery  with  divine  wrath 
scorching  her  sinful  flesh  like  penance-rods  of  scorpions, 
she  cried :  "  Punish  me  for  his  sin  also — if  it  be  not  sin 
to  ask  it." 


17  253 


XIX 

SHE  did  not  see  Molly  until  noon  the  next  day. 
Then,  she  and  Hinkley  were  at  work  in  the  salon,  as 
usual;  in  the  doorway  appeared  Molly,  white  and 
strange.  "  Look !  Read !  "  she  gasped,  so  overwhelmed 
that  she  even  forgot  deference  and  ceremony.  She  thrust 
a  newspaper  at  the  Mother-Light  and  almost  fell  into  a 
chair,  where  she  rocked  her  body  to  and  fro,  her  hands 
tight  upon  her  temples.  The  Mother-Light  glanced  at 
the  newspaper.  "Ah !  "  she  cried,  as  the  shrieking  head- 
lines filled  her  brain  with  their  din.  "Ah !  "  she  repeated, 
like  the  last  breath  sighing  and  hissing  from  the  lips  of 
one  just  dead. 

Hinkley  came,  gently  tried  to  take  the  paper  from 
her.  "  Let  me  read  it  to  you,"  he  begged.  "  I  saw  it 
early  this  morning  and  have  been  debating  ever  since 
how  to  tell  you." 

Her  eyes  were  closed  and  she  was  swaying,  but  she 
held  to  the  newspaper.  "  Is  he — dead  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  Hinkley  answered.    "  Let  me  read." 

The  Mother-Light  made  no  reply.  Instinct  com- 
manded her  to  seek  strength  and  self-control  at  her  sofa- 

254 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

throne.  She  went  slowly  but  steadily  to  it,  seated  her- 
self and  read  with  eyes  that  were  soon  leaping  from  line 
to  line: 

"At  a  quarter  past  eleven  last  night,  Walter  Brock, 
butler  at  the  residence  of  the  distinguished  surgeon,  Doc- 
tor Gay  land  Thorndyke,  SO1/^  Madison  Avenue,  an- 
swered a  ring  of  the  office  bell.  On  opening  the  door  he 
saw  a  man  in  the  little  vestibule.  The  light  there  had 
been  turned  off  for  the  night,  and  the  gas  in  the  front 
hall  was  low.  Brock  made  out,  however,  that  the  caller 
was  of  medium  height,  slender  build,  was  well  dressed  in 
dark  blue  or  black,  and  had  his  face  wound  with  a  white 
bandage,  as  if  his  jaw  were  badly  injured. 

"  '  Is  Doctor  Thorndyke  in  ?  '  inquired  the  caller  in 
a  voice  that  was,  naturally,  muffled.  '  I  need  a  surgeon 
at  once.' 

"  Brock  hesitated,  but  finally  showed  the  man  into 
the  Doctor's  ante-room.  The  doors  between  it  and  the 
consultation  room  were  closed.  Brock  went  round  to  the 
hall  door  of  the  consultation  room,  knocked  and  entered. 
The  Doctor  was  seated  at  his  desk,  under  a  light  so 
shaded  that  it  fell  strongly  upon  the  desk,  leaving  the 
rest  of  the  room  dim.  When  Brock  explained,  Doctor 
Thorndyke  without  looking  up  from  his  writing  said: 
'  I  will  see  him.  Open  the  doors.'  Brock  obeyed,  and 
said  to  the  man,  who  had  taken  a  chair  at  the  far  and 
darkest  end  of  the  large  waiting  parlor,  *  The  Doctor 

255 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

will  see  you.  Please  step  this  way.'  Then  Brock  with- 
drew from  the  consultation  room  by  way  of  the  hall  door, 
which  he  closed  after  him.  He  went,  rather  slowly  as  he 
remembers,  down  the  basement  stairs.  When  he  left  the 
consultation  room  the  Doctor,  who  is  noted  for  his  intense 
power  of  concentration,  was  still  writing,  his  back 
squarely  to  the  open  doors  into  the  reception-room. 

"  At  midnight  Brock,  having  received  no  summons 
and  thinking  the  Doctor  had  forgotten  to  ring  before 
going  to  his  apartment  for  the  night,  went  up  to  put 
out  the  lights.  He  entered  the  reception-room  by  its  hall 
door.  He  glanced  into  the  consultation  room,  saw  the 
Doctor  still  at  his  desk.  Brock  at  first  thought  he  was 
writing,  then  that  he  had  fallen  asleep  with  his  head 
buried  in  his  arm.  He  decided  to  wake  him. 

"  Advancing,  he  was  horrified  by  the  sight  of  the 
handle  of  a  scalpel  projecting  from  Thorndyke's  back. 
Then  he  saw  that  the  young  Doctor's  coat  was  saturated, 
and  realized  the  truth.  His  shouts  brought  the  other 
servants — Doctor  Thorndyke  is  a  bachelor  and  has  no 
family.  The  police  came,  and  several  doctors.  An  ex- 
amination of  the  wound  revealed  that  the  scalpel  had 
entered  the  aortic  cavity.  A  year  ago,  and  the  wound 
would  have  been  mortal;  further,  had  not  the  scalpel 
been  taken  from  a  bowl  of  sterilizing  fluid  within  a  few 
feet  of  the  Doctor's  back,  the  present  strong  hopes  of 
his  recovery  could  never  have  been  entertained." 

256 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

The  newspaper  slipped  from  her  hands  to  her  lap,  to 
the  floor.  "  Hope,"  she  muttered.  "  Strong  hope." 

Hinkley  was  still  standing,  had  been  torturing  him- 
self with  the  panorama  of  her  thoughts  as  it  passed 
across  her  unguarded  features.  "  In  one  of  the  papers," 
he  now  forced  himself  to  say,  "  I  saw  an  interview  with 
his  friend  Doctor  Brenton.  He  says  the  chances  in 
Thorndyke's  favor  are  seven  out  of  ten." 

"  Seven  out  of  ten,"  her  lips  repeated.  Her  eyes 
turned  unseeingly  toward  his  face,  toward  Molly,  back 
again  toward  the  window. 

A  silence,  then  Molly  rose,  and  unconsciously  and 
with  slow  precision  tucked  in  some  flying  strands  of  her 
golden  hair.  "  I  must  go  to  him,"  she  said. 

The  Mother-Light  started.  "  No !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  I  shall  go." 

Molly  looked  at  her  with  amazement  that  swift- 
ly changed  to  happiness.  "  Oh  —  thank  you !  "  she 
cried.  "  You  will  heal  him.  Oh  —  I  did  not  expect 
this!" 

Hinkley's  pallor  became  ghastly.  He  made  a  vio- 
lent gesture  of  protest,  checked  himself  and  with  a  calm- 
ness enforced  by  a  strain  upon  every  nerve  and  muscle, 
said :  "  But  might  it  not  make  a  dangerous  precedent — 
and  many  complications — if  such  a  thing  were  to  be  done 
by  the— Mother-Light?  " 

At  the  pronouncing  of  that  name  in  his  most  solemn 
257 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

voice,  she  shrank.  She  was  looking  steadily  at  him  while 
he  with  more  than  the  usual  solemnity  was  performing 
the  ceremonial  of  the  name.  "  No  sacrifice  would  be  too 
great,"  he  went  on,  "  for  anyone  dear  to  our  revered 
Casewell,  but  would  not  he  be  the  very  first  to  protest 
against  such  a  dangerous  favor — and  to  an  unbeliever, 
a  conspicuous  member  of  the  profession  that  pursues  us 
with  the  bitterest  hate?  If  Doctor  Thorndyke  were  able 
to  control  those  around  him,  the  Mother-Light — "  again 
and  with  reverent  deliberateness  the  ceremonial  of  the 
name — "  would,  of  course,  be  received  and  would  have 
courteous  treatment  at  the  hospital  to  which  they  have 
removed  him.  But  we  must  remember  that  he  is  sur- 
rounded by  his  fellow-practitioners  of  the  cult  of  The 
Darkness.  I  fear  they  might  not  neglect  the  opportu- 
nity to  insult  the  faith  in  the  person  of  her  who  is  its 
divine  head  and  fountain." 

"  He  is  right,"  cried  Molly,  impulsively,  kneeling  be- 
side the  Mother-Light.  "  You  must  not  make  the  sacri- 
fice for  me.  And  it  is  useless,  too,  for  your  healing  can 
go  to  him  as  well  from  here."  She  bent  her  head  and 
clasped  her  hands  upon  her  bosom.  "  Your  blessing, 
Mother-Light,  for  him,"  she  prayed. 

The  Mother-Light  sat  motionless  while  Hinkley  was 
thus  adroitly  reminding  her ;  the  last  vestige  of  color  had 
fled  from  her  face ;  her  very  hair  seemed  to  have  lost  its 
living  light ;  and  her  great  eyes  looked  as  if  she  were  face 

258 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

to  face  with  the  Infinite.  A  long  silence,  Molly  kneeling 
with  bowed  head,  Hinkley  standing,  his  strange  gaze 
burning  upon  the  Mother-Light  as  she  listened  to  the 
Voice.  At  last  she  stretched  forth  her  hand  over  Molly's 
head  and  said :  "  May  The  Light  shine  in  him — in 
us  all." 

"Amen !  "  cried  Hinkley,  an  expression  of  joy  burst- 
ing over  his  somber  face.  "  Amen  and  amen !  "  And  he 
sank  to  his  knees. 

Molly  rose  and  went,  but  Hinkley  continued  to  kneel, 
his  lips  moving  in  an  inaudible  prayer.  She  did  not  note 
him;  all  her  mind  was  absorbed  in  longings  to  feel  the 
mysterious  power  again  flowing  into  her,  that  she  might 
speed  it  out  toward  Thorndyke.  "  If  thou  ever  didst 
use  me  for  thy  miracles,"  she  was  praying,  "  use  me  now 
for  this  miracle.  Let  thy  punishment  fall  upon  me  for 
the  sin.  Spare  him — for  Molly's  sake.  The  sin  was 
mine — all  mine.  Spare  him.  Cause  thy  Light  to  shine 
upon  him — and  I  vow  that  henceforth  thy  will  shall  be 
mine." 

She  waited,  feeling  that  the  answer  would  soon  come. 
And  through  the  awful  silence  and  vastness  in  which  her 
soul  was  isolated,  prostrate,  humbled,  came  The  Power, 
lifting  her  on  its  broad  wave  to  a  great  height  whence 
she  saw,  far,  far  beneath,  the  Woman  in  her  freeing 
herself  from  the  toils  of  an  earthly,  earthy  passion. 
She  felt  herself  again  the  Mother-Light,  again  the  altar 

259 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

of  the  Flame.  "  My  prayer  is  answered ! "  she  ex- 
claimed aloud.  "  He  will  not  die !  " 

She  started  as  Hinkley's  voice  came — "  If  The 
Light  wills."  He  had  risen,  and  was  watching  her. 

"  I  thought  you  went  out  with  Molly,"  she  said. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  If  The  Light  wills,"  he  repeated.  "  It  was  The 
Light  that  struck  him  down.  If  its  purpose  has  been 
accomplished,  he  may  recover.  If  not,  we  may  be  sure 
The  Light  will  move  on  until  its  will  is  perfected,  what- 
ever that  will  may  be." 

"  The  Light,"  she  murmured.  "  The  Light !  "  She 
saw  instantly — this  was  the  wages  of  her  sin !  She  buried 
her  face,  and  her  grief  and  penitence  raged  indiffer- 
ent to  Hinkley's  presence. 

He  bit  his  lip  till  the  blood  came.  But  when  her 
storm  began  to  abate,  his  was  sufficiently  under  control 
for  him  to  calm  and  steady  his  voice  to  say :  "  The 
ways  of  The  Light  can  not  be  always  gentleness,  but  they 
are  always  justice,  and  mercy." 

"  It  was  not  The  Light ! "  she  exclaimed  suddenly. 
"  Someone  who  hated  him  tried  to  kill  him.  The  Light 
does  not  assassinate." 

"  True,"  replied  Hinkley.  "  But  if,  for  some  rea- 
son unknown  to  us,  this  unbeliever  who  had  made  such 
strong  ties  in  this  the  supreme  household  of  the  faith, 
had  become  an  obstacle  to  The  Light — "  Her  eyes 

260 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

shifted  before  his — "  it  may  have  suffered  the  black 
heart  and  the  furious  arm  of  some  hate  to  remove  that 
obstacle." 

"  No !    No !  "  she  protested. 

"  But  your  mind  is  saying  yes,"  he  answered.  "  I 
only  put  into  words  what  you  yourself  have  just  shown 
me.  Do  you  not  see  in  this  the  will  of  The  Light?  " 

She  was  silent. 

"  The  flame  must  be  worshiped  by  the  moths  from 
afar,"  he  went  on,  sardonically.  "  If  they  rush  into  it, 
if  it  bends  toward  them — "  His  voice  and  manner 
changed  abruptly  to  the  priestly  and  the  prophetic — 
"  Woe,  woe  unto  any  that  come  near  the  immortal 
flame!" 

She  trembled  before  her  guilt  as  he  unrolled  its  black 
scroll  before  her. 

"  In  your  childhood,"  he  went  on  gently,  "  The 
Light  put  its  mark  upon  you,  drew  its  circle  about  you. 
And  one  by  one,  all  near  you,  all  who  came  near  you, 
passed  away.  You  were  fulfilling  your  destiny  of  ex- 
alted isolation." 

"  Oh,  Will !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  am  too  weak — too 
human,  for  it.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  alone.  There  come 
hours " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  but  those  hours  will  be  fewer 
and  farther  apart  as  the  Woman  in  you  yields  to  the 
Mother-Light.  And  the  day  will  come,  the  day  must 

261 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

come—can  you  not  see  it — when  you  will  shine  steadily, 
purely,  in  the  joy  and  glory  of  The  Light,  unmarred  by 
any  motes  from  The  Darkness." 

"  But  he  will  recover,"  she  said.  "  I  feel  it.  I  have 
been  forgiven." 

"  It  is  so,"  he  replied,  "  if  you  feel  it  as  the  Mother- 
Light.  And  I  hope  it  is  so,  for  his  sake." 

Alone,  she  sat  peering  into  the  dimness  around  this 
mystery  of  sin  and  punishment.  And,  after  a  long  time, 
there  came  a  gleam — and  she  said :  "  Mine  is  the  sin 
whose  wages  is  death !  "  Then,  swift  upon  that  illumi- 
nating gleam,  a  tremendous,  overwhelming  flash,  and 
she  saw,  and  she  cried  out :  "  That  was  the  sin  of  Ann 
Banks  and  Mr.  Casewell !  And  they  persisted  in  it,  and 
did  not  cast  it  out  until  too  late !  " 

Too  late!  She  sat  there,  very  still,  her  fixed  eyes 
upon  this  thunder-clap  revelation.  They  cherished  the 
traitor  from  The  Darkness  until  it  was  too  late.  "  And 
I — is  it  too  late  for  me  ?  "  her  still  soul  whispered. 

After  a  long  wait  for  answer  The  Light  shone. 


262 


XX 


ON  the  twelfth  day  Thorndyke  had  so  far  advanced 
toward  recovery  that,  when  Molly  was  leaving  his  room 
in  the  New  York  Hospital  after  a  two  hours'  visit,  it 
was  to  return  to  Trenton  and  the  Temple  of  Temples. 
He  did  not  release  her  hand  when  he  took  it  for  the  final 
good-by.  "  It  has  been  having  you  here  every  day  that 
has  made  me  get  well  so  fast,"  he  said. 

She  blushed,  then  with  a  sense  of  irreligion  in  her 
pleasure  that  ought  to  be  atoned,  answered :  "  I  under- 
stand how  you  mean  it,  but — I  must  remind  you  it  is 
The  Light  that  has  healed  you — The  Light  working 
through  the  Mother-Light."  And  she  hesitated,  as  she 
had  several  times  before,  whether  to  tell  him  that  the 
Mother-Light  had  almost  come  herself.  But  once  more 
she  decided  that  the  telling  would  be  an  indiscretion  to- 
ward the  faith. 

His  expression  as  she  uttered  the  name  of  the 
Mother-Light  was  misread  by  her.  "  Please  don't  mis- 
understand," she  begged.  "  I  don't  say  that  to  give 
you  a  tactless  reminder  of  a  religion  which  means  noth- 
ing to  you." 

"  But  it  does  mean  a  great  deal  to  me,"  was  his  earn- 
263 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

est  protest.  "  It  is  your  religion — and  hers.  And  you 
are  right;  it  was  she  who  cured  me.  That,  however, 
doesn't  change  the  fact  that  you  hastened  the  cure." 

She  waited,  her  breath  coming  a  little  faster.  Surely 
he  was  now  going  on  to  say  the  words  she  was  always 
hoping  for  and  often  expecting.  But  he  did  not ;  and, 
had  he  not  been  thinking  of  someone  else,  he  could 
hardly  have  failed  to  note  the  disappointment  she  was 
unable  to  keep  out  of  her  voice,  as  she  finally  said :  "And 
you  will  come  down  to  the  Temple  of  Temples  to  finish 
your  convalescence  ?  " 

"  I  have  promised,"  he  answered.  Then  he  laughed 
— "And  if  I  hadn't,  and  if  nobody  invited  me,  I've  a 
notion  I'd  come  anyhow."  And  her  spirits  rose  under 
her  misreading  of  the  double  meaning  he  had  ventured 
to  put  into  his  words  because  he  felt  that  his  secret  was 
safe. 

On  the  steps  of  the  hospital  she  met  Brenton.  He 
greeted  her  with  one  of  those  sly,  insane  smiles  and  fits 
of  twitching  which  she  had  come  to  understand  and  to 
disregard.  At  first  she  had  liked  him  because  he  liked 
Thorndyke ;  now,  she  liked  him  for  his  queer,  blunt,  ag- 
gressive, tender-hearted  self.  She  returned  with  him  as 
far  as  the  reception  room  for  a  final  talk  about  their  pa- 
tient. "  It's  amazing  how  he's  rushing  along,"  said 
Brenton.  "  When  I  first  looked  at  him — well,  I  can 
confess  now  that  I  hadn't  much  hope.  But  we  treat 

264 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

these  cases  better  than  we  used  to."    And  his  eyes  smiled 
a  challenge  to  Miss  Ransome's  faith. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  apparent  guilelessness.  "  You 
treat  them  less — you  give  Nature  a  chance." 

"  Not  The  Light?  " 

"  I  said  Nature — which  is  only  another  name  for  The 
Light." 

"  That  fog-bank  !  "  he  mocked.  "  It's  everywhere 
and  nowhere.  '  A  hill-full,  a  dale-full,  but  you  can't 
catch  a  bowl-full.'  " 

"  No  more  can  you  of  sunshine  or  air  or  anything 
else  vital,"  she  retorted. 

"  In  this  case,"  he  said,  with  gallantry  that  was  sin- 
cere if  awkward,  "  I  admit  the  light — '  the  light  that 
lies  in  woman's  eyes.'  And  in  general  I'll  admit  that  we 
doctors  are  less  '  scientific '  every  day  and  more  hocus- 
pocus,  bread-pill,  fresh-air  and  faith-cure '  medicine  men.' 
And  I  believe  that  as  a  result  we  kill  fewer  than  we  did." 

He  was  still  reveling  in  the  atmosphere  of  good 
humor  she  diffused,  when  he  entered  Thorndyke's  room. 
He  found  him  low  in  mind.  "And  no  wonder,"  the  in- 
valid frankly  explained.  "  My  cousin  isn't  coming  any 
more." 

"  But  she's  going  to  keep  on  with  the  treatment, 
isn't  she?  "  said  Brenton.     "  Absent  treatment,  I  be- 
lieve they  call  it." 
Thorndyke  frowned. 

265 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"Oh!  I  forgot,"  said  Brenton.  "  She  told  me  the 
other  day,  when  we  were  having  one  of  our  discussions, 
that  it  was  the  absent  treatment  of  the  Mother-Light 
that " 

Thorndyke  reddened  and  interrupted  him.  "  Please 
don't  irritate  me,  Brenton,"  he  said.  "  There  are  things 
in  the  world  that  the  dissecting  knife  and  the  microscope 
haven't  found — as  yet.  When  you  get  into  the  neigh- 
borhood of  those  things,  you  are  out  of  your  province." 

"  Granted,"  said  Brenton,  cheerfully.  "  I  don't 
pretend  to  be  able  to  breathe  where  there  isn't  any  air." 
And  he  changed  the  subject,  and  decided  to  postpone 
until  another  day  certain  matters  which  he  had  strongly 
in  mind  and  to  which  his  badly  received  remarks  were 
intended  as  an  introduction. 

It  was  two  weeks  later  and  Thorndyke  was  once  more 
in  his  own  house,  but  still  not  moving  about  much,  when 
Brenton  returned  to  that  purpose  of  his.  Thorndyke, 
stretched  in  an  operating  chair,  was  so  placed  that  he 
could  not  see  Brenton  without  turning  his  head  to  an 
uncomfortable  angle.  Brenton  began — in  his  most  in- 
different tone,  but  with  his  eyes  straining  to  note  the 
slightest  change  in  his  friend's  face :  "  By  the  way,  the 
police  think  they  have  a  clue." 

Thorndyke  smiled.     "  Of  course,"  he  said. 

"A  fanatic,"  continued  Brenton — and,  when  he  saw 
Thorndyke  instantly  concentrate,  his  eyes  glittered  in- 

266 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

sanely  with  a  thoroughly  sane  satisfaction.  "  A  religious 
fanatic — one  who  thinks  it's  his  duty  to  remove  ob- 
stacles to  his  faith.  Not  an  uncommon  delusion.  In 
fact,  the  reverse.  It's  the  ordinary  form  of  the  insanity 
of  human  egotism  to  call  anything  that  doesn't  fit  in 
with  one's  plans  an  unholy  obstacle,  and  to  feel  one  has 
the  right  to  remove  it,  and  actually  to  remove  it — ex- 
cept where  removal  is  a  gallows  matter.  There  most 
men's  conviction — or  courage — halts.  Courage  rather 
than  con " 

"  Who  is  he?  "  interrupted  Thorndyke,  his  impa- 
tience getting  the  better  of  his  determination  to  hide 
himself  from  Brenton. 

Brenton  smiled  and  twitched  his  lips  and  his  fingers 
from  the  security  of  his  seat  out  of  view,  as  he  answered 
in  his  former,  casual  way :  "  Oh,  an  educated  fellow,  they 
say — perfectly  sane  in  all  other  respects — a  man  you 
could  trust  on  a  jury  to  condemn  in  some  other  chap 
much  milder  things  than  he'd  do  himself.  What  an  un- 
inhabitable place  this  world  would  soon  be  if  we  refused 
to  condemn  in  others  the  things  we'd  do  ourselves." 

"  What's  his  name?  "  demanded  Thorndyke.  And 
he  twisted  round  and  looked.  Brenton's  expression  made 
him  settle  back — he  knew  he  had  been  tricked  into  be- 
traying himself. 

"  No,"  said  Brenton,  answering  Thorndyke's 
thought,  "  not  that  man — the  police  would  never  look 

267 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

in  that  direction.  This  man  is  a  fellow  you  operated  on 
once — he's  been  in  a  madhouse  up  in  Massachusetts — got 
away  about  six  weeks  ago.  But — I  see  you  know  who 
tried  to  kill  you.  And  that's  what  I  wanted  to  find  out." 

"  Why  do  you — "  Thorndyke  began.  But  he  did 
not  know  how  to  finish. 

"  I  suspected,  the  instant  they  told  me  you  were 
stabbed,"  Brenton  continued.  "  I  might  almost  say  I 
had  a  foreboding  of  it  when  you  talked  to  me,  or,  rather 
refused  to  talk,  about — the  Mother-Light.  I  saw  you 
were  involving  yourself  between  the  two  strongest  of 
the  fundamental  passions,  love  and  superstition,  both 
lawless,  both  sublime,  both  with  mountain-like  peaks — 
and  abysses.  And  I — feared." 

"  I  can  account  for  it  in  no  other  way,"  confessed 
Thorndyke.  Suddenly  he  turned  on  his  friend.  "  You 
haven't  told  your  suspicions  to  the  police — to  any 
one?  " 

"  I've  too  little  confidence  in  police  intelligence  for 
that,  and  too  much  confidence  in  the  cunning  of — those 
people.  No,  I  thought  it  was  your  affair.  But — if 
your  wound  had  turned  out  differently,  I  shouldn't  have 
sent  anyone  along  their  trail.  It  would  have  been  an  in- 
teresting hunt."  A  stranger  might  have  gathered  from 
Brenton's  tone  that  he  almost  regretted  he  was  not  to 
have  the  chance  to  match  his  wits  against  the  wiliness 
of  "  those  people." 

268 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Thorndyke  simply,  his  eyes  dim 
as  he  settled  himself  again.  "  Thank  you,  Eugene." 

At  his  tone  a  flush  came  into  Eugene's  rather  gaunt 
face.  But  he  said  gruffly :  "  I  suppose  you'll  do  noth- 
ing about  it." 

"  Nothing." 

"  They'll  probably  be  more  successful  the  next  time." 

"  Perhaps." 

Brenton  gloomily  watched  his  friend's  look  of  un- 
swerving determination.  Presently  he  began  again :  "  I 
have  been — have  become — intensely  interested  in  that 
young  cousin  of  yours — in  her  heart." 

Thorndyke  laughed  amiably.     "  You !  "  he  said. 

"  Not  a  personal  interest,"  Brenton  rejoined  tran- 
quilly. "  Women — even  she — have  not  the  wisdom  to 
be  satisfied  with  the  peaceful  emotions  I  could  offer  them 
and  would  insist  upon  their  restraining  themselves  to 
with  me.  But,  in  the  course  of  my  investigations  into 
mental  disturbances  of  all  kinds,  I  have  had  to  make  a 
somewhat  exhaustive  study  of  love  in  its  several  forms. 
And,  just  as  the  expert  in  wines,  teas,  perfumes,  or 
other  things  of  delicate  flavor,  must  be  a  person  whose 
senses  have  not  been  vitiated  by  indulgence  in  them,  so 
it  is  with  the  expert  in  love.  He  must  have  been  a  total 
abstainer.  Usually  the  specimens  of  love  I  have  tested 
have  been  commonplace  to  distinctly  unpleasant.  But 

the  love  of  your  cousin " 

18  269 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  For  whom?  "  asked  Thorndyke. 

"  For  you,"  blurted  Brenton,  like  a  shot  out  of  a 
gun. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Thorndyke.  "  I  thought  you  meant  she 
was  wi  love."  • 

"  So  I  do,"  replied  Brenton.  "  She  may  be  as  un- 
conscious of  it  as  you  are.  But  she  loves  you.  She  is  a 
beautiful  woman — a  beautiful  flower,  and  her  love  for 
you  is  its  perfume  worthy  of  its  beauty."  This  in  a 
musing  tone,  with  a  curious  sadness  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  talk  to  you — we  talk  to  each  other,  Brenton," 
said  Thorndyke,  "  much  as  each  talks  within  himself. 
But,  I  beg  you,  please  say  and,  if  possible,  think,  no 
more  about  it.  I  feel  as  if  we  were — not  showing  proper 
respect  for  her." 

"  Don't  think  I'd  be  saying  these  things  to  you  if  I 
hadn't  a  purpose  that  was  respectful  for  her,"  Brenton 
answered.  "  If  she  heard  me  talking  this  way  to  you 
of  her,  she  would  hate  me.  But  if  she  could  look  into 
my  mind — I'm  sure  she  wouldn't." 

"  She  does  not  care  for  me,  nor  I  for  her — in  that 
way,"  declared  Thorndyke,  with  the  positiveness  of  the 
man  who  is  both  convinced  and  determined  to  remain 
convinced. 

"  There  are  two  distinct  genera  of  love — all  the 
others  are  species,"  philosophized  the  mind  expert. 
"  There  is  the  love  that  asks  all  and  offers  nothing ; 

270 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

there  is  the  love  that  offers  all  and  asks  nothing.  And 
the  man  who  has  the  chance  to  live  in  the  unbroken  sun- 
shine of  a  love  that  offers  all  and  asks  nothing,  and  who 
refuses  that  chance — deserves  the  fate  the  capacity  for 
such  folly  will  surely  bring  him." 

After  a  silence  so  long  that  Brenton  was  beginning 
to  think  Thorndyke  had  fallen  asleep,  Thorndyke  said : 
"  You've  tempted  me  into  a  pitiful  priggish  return  for 
my  cousin's  kindness!  Here  I'm  debating  whether  she 
isn't  in  love  with  me.  I  am  ashamed,  and  so  should  you 
be — you,  who  know  there's  only  one  woman  for  me." 

"  Only  one  thing  worse  than  to  lose  her  could  over- 
take you,"  said  Brenton  savagely.  "  That  would  be  to 
win  her.  Have  you  ever  looked  calmly  at  this  infatua- 
tion of  yours?  Even  if  you  could  get  near  enough  to 
her  to  induce  her  to  return  it,  what  good  could  it  do 
either  her  or  you?  How  could  she  be  fitted  into  your 
life,  or  you  into  hers,  or  how  could  you  two  together 
make  a  life  that  would  not  be  disastrous  to  both  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  replied  Thorndyke,  "  and 
furthermore,  I  don't  care." 

"  Don't  care !  "  echoed  Brenton  scornfully.  "  That's 
fine  talk  for  a  man  with  the  duty  of  a  career !  " 

"  Duty  ?  To  whom,  since  we  have  banished  God 
from  the  universe?  To  whom?  To  what?  " 

"  To  sanity." 

"  That  is  not  duty ;  it  is  option." 
271 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  With  rather  disagreeable  penalties  for  disobe- 
dience," retorted  Brenton. 

"  I  obey  the  law  that  overrides  all  laws,"  said  Thorn- 
dyke.  "Also,  I  do  not  profess  to  be  sane — or  wish  to 
be."  And  he  would  talk  no  more,  angry  with  himself 
for  having  let  Brenton  goad  him  into  saying  so  much. 

Brenton  went  moodily  away.  "  He  refuses  food  and 
clutches  at  poison,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Very  human, 
that.  We've  lost  the  instinct  that  keeps  the  other  ani- 
mals straight.  We've  broken  out  of  the  nursery  and 
are  smashing  crazily  about — especially  in  the  jam  closet 
— and  the  wine-cellar.  Passion!  Fire's  beautiful — but 
not  to  fall  into.  And  that  fire — It  won't  burn  long,  even 
on  a  hearth.  And  what  scars !  And  what  ashes !  " 

Brenton  decided  that,  at  least,  he  must  try  to  keep 
his  insane  friend  alive.  It  was  in  the  pursuit  of  this 
object  that,  three  mornings  later,  he  appeared  at  the 
bronze  doors  of  the  Temple  of  Temples  and  asked  for 
Miss  Ransome.  When  she  appeared  in  the  drawing  room 
into  which  he  had  been  shown,  he  said  to  her :  "  I  have 
come  on  a  matter  of  particular  and  private  business 
with  the  Mother-Light." 

"  But  it  will  be  impossible  to  present  you,"  replied 
Molly.  "  It  would  be  useless  for  me  to  ask — in  fact,  I 
shouldn't  venture  to  ask." 

Brenton  looked  reflectively  round  the  crimson  and 
gold  drawing-room,  with  its  lofty  ceiling,  its  long, 

272 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

stained  glass  windows,  its  soft  clear  light.  "  I  feared 
so,"  he  said.  "  Then — may  I  see  whoever  stands  next 
to  her?" 

"  Mr.  Hinkley  is  away — in  Chicago — just  now. 
There  is  Mr.  Floycroft — the  Third  Apostle — I'm  sure  he 
would  do  as  well  as  Mr.  Hinkley.  They  are  practically 
equal." 

"  Very  well — Mr.  Floycroft,  then." 

Molly  went,  and  presently  there  entered  in  ghostly 
fashion  a  tall,  slender  man  in  black — "  a  fanatic," 
thought  Brenton,  eyeing  him  keenly,  "  eloquent  proba- 
bly; fanaticism  directed  by  a  strong,  narrow  mind;  a 
powerful  will,  that  is  the  slave  of  an  emotional  nature; 
the  very  man,  or  one  essentially  like  him." 

Floycroft  was  bowing,  was  regarding  him  with  at- 
tentive courtesy. 

"  I  am  a  friend  of  Doctor  Thorndyke's,"  said  Bren- 
ton. "  He  is  coming  down  here  next  week.  I  wish  to 
say,  first,  that  he  has  not  sent  me,  does  not  know  of  my 
coming,  would  have  forbidden  me  had  he  known.  Next, 
I  wish  to  assure  you  and  your  associates  that  if  another 
attempt  is  made  on  his  life,  the  criminal  will  not  again 
be  allowed  to  escape.  He  is  practically  known,  and  I, 
personally,  and  without  consulting  Doctor  Thorndyke, 
shall  take  the  matter  up." 

While  speaking  he  had  not  removed  his  eyes  from 
Floycroft's.  He  saw  beneath  the  Third  Apostle's  look 

273 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

of  polite  attention  a  puzzled  gleam.  "  Innocent,"  he  said 
to  himself,  "  or  an  extraordinarily  good  actor." 

"  You  will  transmit  my  message  to — your  associ- 
ates ?  "  he  said  aloud. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Floycroft.  "  But  I  trust  you 
will  try  to  dissuade  Doctor  Thorndyke  from  his  mis- 
taken lenience.  He  should  make  himself  once  for  all  se- 
cure. We  were  deeply  grieved  here  by  the  crime  against 
Miss  Ransome's  cousin — we  like  him  very  much." 

"  Not  the  man — probably,"  was  Brenton's  verdict, 
upon  the  evidence  of  the  Third  Apostle's  perfect  manner. 
Then,  to  Floycroft :  "  Perhaps  you  might  also  say  to 
them  that  neither  Miss  Ransome  nor  Doctor  Thorndyke 
knows  why  I  came,  and  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  alarm 
either  of  them." 

"  If  you  wish,"  said  Floycroft.  His  surface  of  pa- 
tient courtesy  thinned,  without  breaking,  to  hint  that  he 
would  not  resist  a  speedy  end  to  the  interview  with  this 
man  of  eccentric  words  and  glances  and  twitchings. 

"  No — hardly  the  man,"  Brenton  again  assured  him- 
self, "  though  quite  capable  of  doing  that,  or  worse,  if 
his  conscience  commanded."  When  Floycroft  went, 
which  was  almost  immediately,  Molly  returned.  Brenton 
exacted  from  her  that  she  would  say  nothing  to  anyone  of 
his  having  been  there.  "  It  simply  had  to  do  with  some 
precautions  for  Thorndyke's  safety,"  he  told  her.  "  No, 
not  that  there's  danger  of  a  repetition  of  the  crime. 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

We  think  we  know  the  criminal,  and  you  may  be  sure 
we're  watching." 

"  I  should  have  said  he  hadn't  an  enemy  in  the  world," 
said  Molly.  "  He  certainly  never  wronged  anyone." 

"  He  has  lots  of  enemies,  I  hope,"  replied  Brenton. 
"  In  a  world  where  to  have  merit  is  to  have  hatred,  the 
number  of  a  man's  enemies  is  the  best  measure  of  his 
strength,  a  better  measure  even  than  the  fewness  of  his 
friends." 

"  Cynicism,"  she  said. 

"  I  wish  it  were,"  he  answered. 

"  Still,  I'm  sure  whoever  did  it  was  insane." 

"  It's  not  easy  to  give  a  satisfactory  definition  of 
insanity,"  was  his  reply,  accompanied  by  a  look  of 
quizzical  amusement,  which  seemed  to  her  in  keeping 
neither  with  her  remark  nor  with  his  own. 

When  he  was  driving  away  from  the  Temple,  he  had 
his  driver  stop  and  half -turn  the  station  surrey  so  that 
he  could  look  back  at  it.  He  looked  long.  Even  in  the 
brilliant  sunshine  of  unmysterious  broad  day,  it  dif- 
fused a  certain  mystery,  the  stronger  that  it  was  a  mys- 
tery of  light  and  not  of  darkness  or  dimness.  The 
stained-glass  windows,  the  heavy  mantles  of  creepers,  the 
white  marble  glistening  through  them  here  and  there, 
the  stillness,  the  air  of  desertion  or  aloofness  or  impene- 
trability and,  beyond,  the  huge  gray  pile  of  the  Hall  of 
The  Light  with  a  crimson  and  gold  banner  streaming 

275 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

above  its  domed  roof — "  Mystery  !  Mystery !  "  he  mut- 
tered. "  How  man  revels  in  it !  If  he  only  knew  how 
commonplace  the  secret  is,  what  a  bore  and  a  burden  lif  e 
would  become.  *  The  veil  falls,  the  illusion  vanishes.' 
Schiller  wrote  it  of  love,  but  it  applies  to  life."  He 
sighed.  "  Oh,  my  lost  illusions !  "  He  smiled  satiric- 
ally. "  Or — oh,  my  new  illusion  that  they  were  illu- 
sions ! " 

When  the  surrey  started  again,  he  fell  to  musing 
upon  the  scrawny  neck  and  humped-over  shoulders  of 
the  driver.  "  Driver,"  he  said,  "  you  believe  in  the  im- 
mortality of  the  soul,  of  course  ?  You  are  convinced  that 
these  billions  of  minds,  past,  present,  and  future,  though 
more  gnarled  and  misshapen  and  full  of  weaknesses  than 
the  bodies  they  suffer  in,  are  yet  worth  preserving  for 
all  eternity?  " 

The  driver  did  not  answer  immediately — he  wished 
to  give  Brenton  the  impression  that  he  was  doing  some 
deep  thinking.  "  Well,"  he  finally  said,  "  if  I  didn't 
think  there  was  going  to  be  a  hereafter,  I  reckon  I'd 
have  a  high  old  time  in  this  life." 

"  What  would  you  call '  a  high  old  time  '  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'd  just— cut  loose !  " 

"  With  the  policeman  on  the  corner  to  tie  you  up 
if  you  got  too  loose,  and  with  the  bills  to  pay,  and  sick- 
ness if  you  don't  behave,  and  the  wife  and  babies  needing 
all  the  money?  " 

276 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"Well,  anyhow,  I'd  hate  to  die,  if  I  didn't  feel  I 
was  going  somewhere." 

"  You're  not  exactly  crazy  about  dying,  as  it  is,  are 
you?" 

"  I  can  wait  my  turn,"  he  replied  with  a  grin,  that 
admitted  a  second  defeat.  "And  I  guess  no  great 
harm'll  come  to  anybody  that  behaves  himself,  not  here 
or  over  yander." 

"  You  agree  with  Socrates." 

"  If  he  thought  that,  I  do.  And  I'll  go  further  and 
say  that  I've  no  strong  prejudice  agin  any  of  the  ways 
of  getting  there.  My  way  suits  me,  but  them  that  pre- 
fers another — why,  let  'em  go  it.  I  ain't  prejudiced  even 
agin  The  Lighters."  He  looked  cautiously  round  and 
up  before  he  added,  "  I  don't  hold  with  them  that  say — 
She — has  sold  herself  to  the  devil." 

"  You've  seen  her?  " 

"  Twice.  First  time  was  twenty-six  year  ago  last 
May.  I  drove  her  and  the  one  that  was  the  First  Apos- 
tle up  from  the  station  when  they  came  to  settle  here. 
I  saw  her  agin  last  spring."  He  looked  all  round  and 
up,  even  more  carefully  than  before.  Then  he  said  in  a 
low  voice — "And  She  looked  just  the  same! " 

A  thrill  ran  through  Brenton,  and  up  and  down  his 
spine.  He  laughed  at  himself,  told  himself  the  driver 
was  an  ignorant,  superstitious  fellow,  reminded  himself 
that  not  one  human  being  in  a  million  had  power  of  ob- 

277 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

servation  that  could  be  trusted  at  all  as  to  matters  of 
identity  or  had  accurate  memory  for  events  even  of  the 
previous  day.  But,  for  all  his  reasoning  and  his  con- 
tempt of  the  supernatural,  his  spine  continued  to  shiver 
at  intervals ;  his  mood  of  amusing  himself  with  the  driver 
was  gone;  he  sat  silent  and  oppressed  the  rest  of  the 
journey.  And  often  thereafter  his  mind  in  a  sort  of 
awe  gazed  upon  a  fanciful  picture  drifting  before  it — 
the  Temple  of  Temples  and  the  Hall  of  The  Light,  a 
banner  like  a  living  thing  floating  high  over  them;  a 
woman-goddess,  bathed  in  the  glory  of  immortal  youth ; 
hazily,  through  the  loneliness  and  silence  and  mystery 
of  it  all,  a  spirit  peering  like  a  dark  menace.  And  that 
spirit  seemed  to  him  brother  to  one  within  himself — to 
the  monster  sprawled  in  the  ooze  of  his  own  marsh  of 
credulity  and  superstition  which  lay  too  deep  for  the  sun 
of  reason  to  reach  and  drain  it. 


278 


XXI 

NOT  until  the  day  Thorndyke  was  leaving  the  Tem- 
ple of  Temples  did  the  Mother-Light  send  for  him. 

Molly,  who  brought  the  summons,  took  him  through 
the  cool  twilight  of  the  corridor  in  the  east  wing  and 
left  him  at  the  threshold  of  the  garden.  The  mystery 
and  charm  of  the  unseen  Mother-Light  hazed  and 
tinted  the  whole  atmosphere  of  the  domain  of  The 
Light;  but  here,  in  this  place  consecrated  to  her  and 
known  only  by  the  reports  of  the  few  who  had  visited  it, 
she  dominated  as  the  altar  dominates  the  chancel.  Before 
him,  when  he  stood  in  the  doorway,  stretched  an  aisle  of 
blossoms,  white,  crimson,  yellow ;  at  the  end  was  a  huge 
elm,  beneath  it  a  bench  over  which  had  been  thrown  a 
white  cloth  with  crimson  and  gold  figurings.  She 
was  seated  upon  it,  the  jeweled  sunburst  at  her  throat 
the  only  relief  to  her  gauzy,  flowing  robe  of  black.  And 
sunbeams,  sifted  to  softness  by  the  leaves,  floated  here 
and  there  upon  the  curiously  wrought  casque  of  her 
bronze  hair  which  in  certain  lights  made  her  seem 
crowned  with  coils  and  curls  of  fire. 

As  he  came  toward  her  she  did  not  look  at  him.  He 
thought  her  like  some  wonderful  statue  of  classic  pan- 

279 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

theon,  enthroned  in  unscalable  aloofness,  listening  with 
ears  that  would  not  hear  to  implorings  those  beautiful 
lips  would  never  move  to  grant.  And  in  that  face  in 
which  feeling  seemed  to  him  to  be  frozen  beyond  the 
power  of  passion  to  melt  it,  he  saw  his  fate — the  fate  he 
had  been  anticipating  since  the  first  day  of  his  visit 
passed  without  her  sending  for  him.  He  paused  before 
her,  folded  his  arms  and  bent  his  head. 

Presently  she  ventured  to  look.  And  when  she  saw 
in  his  thinness  and  pallor  the  remainders  of  what  had 
befallen  him  for  love  of  her,  she  made  an  impulsive 
movement  and  into  her  eyes  came  pain  and  the  longing 
to  console.  "  But  you  are  not  well  yet — and  they  told 
me  you  were,"  she  said — and  he  thought  surely  no  man 
would  ever  hear  the  knell  of  heart-hopes  in  a  voice  so 
sweet  and  sad. 

"  It  was  never  serious,"  he  answered,  "  and  I  am 
again  strong  enough  to  suffer  and — "  He  lifted  his 
head — "  to  endure.  If  you  have  sent  for  me  merely  to 
tell  me  you  have  changed  your  mind,  you  may  save  me 
and  yourself  from  pain.  I  do  not  understand,  but  I 
know  you  change  because  you  must." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  replied.  "  Thank  you  for  spar- 
ing me  the  reproaches  I  have  been  shrinking  from." 

"  But  why  should  I  reproach  you?  Have  I  not  felt 
your  heart's  strong,  steady  beat  against  mine?  Have 
I  not  seen  the  lightning  in  your  eyes,  felt  it — upon  your 

280 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

lips?  I  know  that  your  love  was  like  mine — and  there- 
fore I  know  how  strong  must  have  been  the  force  that 
could  change  it !  Not  that  I  yield  to  that  force.  But, 
yield  to  you — I  must." 

"  It  is  The  Light,"  she  said.  "  It  forbids,  and  I 
could  not  disobey  if  I  would.  My  faith  means  little  to 
you;  but  I  know,  with  a  certainty  which  the  things  of 
reason  never  have,  that  I  was  born  to  and  for  what  I  now 
am.  You  would  perhaps  believe,  or,  at  least  see  why  I 
believe — if  I  told  you  by  what  a  succession  of  miracles, 
beginning  in  my  earliest  childhood,  I  was  drawn  apart 
from  friends,  family,  loved  ones,  and  was  isolated  to 
the  service  of  The  Altar.  My  own  will  has  counted  for 
nothing — and  henceforth  I  shall  never  try  to  set  it  up 
against  The  Light.  I  need  not  tell  you  how  I  loved 
you — how  I  shall  love  you  and  crave  you  with  all  the 
passion  of  a  heart  in  which  passion  was  never  before 
awakened.  But  that  is  the  Woman  in  me.  The  Mother- 
Light  sits  unmoved.  And  never  again!  never  again! — 
will  I  bring  upon  one  I  love  the  ruin  my  woman's  love 
for  him  must  mean." 

"  Then  you  are  mine,  after  all !  "  he  cried.  "  No 
calamity  will  come  to  me — they  dare  not  try  to  kill  me 
again.  And  if  calamity  did  come,  do  you  not  know  I 
would  welcome  it  if  it  were  the  price  that  must  be  paid?  " 

"  You  think  the  aim  is  not  sure,  or  that  the  blow 
was  mere  coincidence.  But — I  know!  " 

281 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

"  You  know  who  tried  to  kill  me !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  No,  nor  do  I  wish  to  know.  Helpless  wretch,  in- 
strument of  The  Power  that  works  by  ways  we  can  not 
penetrate." 

He  compressed  his  lips  to  hold  back  his  protest — 
folly,  worse  than  folly,  to  reason  against  superstition. 

"  I  read  your  thought,"  she  went  on.  "  You  sit  in 
judgment  on  that  power — and  so  should  I,  if  I  let  rea- 
son rule  my  mind.  But,  believing  as  I  do,  I  feel  that  I 
know  the  blow  was  used — not  directed,  but  used — by 
The  Light.  And  I  thank  it  that  it  mercifully  spared 
me  the  torment  that  would  have  been  mine — had  you 
died." 

To  argue  with  her — it  would  be  useless.  To  denounce 
this  unreasoning,  blind  faith  of  hers — it  would  be  mad- 
ness. To  plead  his  love — the  more  she  realized  it  and 
the  more  she  loved  him,  the  firmer  would  be  her  resolve 
to  save  him.  In  his  love  for  her,  in  his  rage  against  this 
superstition  which  ruled  her  and  against  his  own  im- 
potence, in  his  fury  and  passion  and  despair  that  did 
not  dare  express  themselves,  he  reeled,  staggered,  would 
have  fallen  had  she  not  sprung  forward  and  helped  him. 
And  then — he  was  at  her  feet,  his  head  in  her  lap  and 
tears  at  his  weakness  welling  from  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Mother-Light !  "  he  exclaimed  between  a  cry 
and  a  sob.  "  Have  mercy !  Come  into  the  sunshine 
with  me!  Do  not  fear  for  me  or  for  yourself.  These 

282 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

followers  of  yours  worship  you  as  an  idol.  And  I  wor- 
ship you  as  that — but  as  more,  infinitely  more — as  flesh 
and  blood  and  fire.  I  burn  with  you  day  and  night, 
beautiful,  wonderful  Flame." 

Her  fingers  were  caressing  his  hair,  his  head;  her 
lips  were  murmuring  inarticulate  endearments — and 
then  she  suddenly  pushed  him  away  in  terror.  "  My 
vow !  My  vow !  "  she  cried. 

"  Come  away  with  me  to  safety  and  sunshine ! "  he 
pleaded,  pressing  close  to  her  again.  "  The  Light  is 
there — not  in  mystery — and  murder !  Oh,  do  you  not  see 
to  what  depth  this  life  of  superstition  will  drag  you  ?  Is 
there  any  crime  it  will  not  excuse?  Is  there  any  treach- 
ery it  will  not  support  and  plot?  It  has  always  been 
so.  Doing  evil  that  good  may  come,  thinking  nothing 
evil  that  helps  the  cause,  bartering  the  substance  of  this 
life,  poor  though  it  may  be,  for  worthless  shadows." 

She  had  drawn  herself  up,  was  standing  white  and 
cold.  And  she  stretched  her  arms  toward  him  and 
prayed,  "  May  The  Light  shine  in  you !  May  your 
blasphemy  be  forgiven !  " 

"  My  love !  My  love !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Forgive 
me !  I  was  goaded  to  it !  I  could  not  bear  the  thought 
that  you,  who  love  me,  should  through  what  you  believe 
to  be  religion  shield  in  your  very  house  the  man  who  in 
obedience  to  I  know  not  what  base  passion  tried  to  as- 
sassinate me." 

283 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

She  was  like  stone  for  a  moment.  Then,  bending 
toward  him,  her  whole  body  trembling,  her  eyes  wide  with 
horror,  she  whispered:  "Here?  Here?  Who?" 

"  You  must  know,"  he  answered.  "  When  I  was  last 
here — when  you  hurried  me  away — who  was  it  you 
feared?  " 

She  recoiled  and  her  lips  shut  upon  the  name  that 
would  have  rushed  past  them. 

"  I  see  you  do  know,"  he  said.  "And — tell  me — 
was  it  The  Light  that  nerved  his  arm  to  drive  a  knife 
into  my  back?  Is  it  The  Light  that  makes  you,  even 
now  that  you  know  his  guilt,  refuse  to  denounce  him — 
an  assassin — the  assassin  of  the  man  whose  only  crime 
was  that  he  loved  you,  and  was  loved?  Ah — my  love — 
my  wonder-woman  of  all  this  world,  sum  of  the  whole 
mystery  men  call  Woman — tell  me — shall  The  Darkness 
triumph  or  will  you  come  into  the  light  with  me  ?  Come ! 
Purify  your  religion  of  these  poisons.  Rescue  the  soul 
Beauty  from  the  slavery  of  the  Beast  superstition.  I 
do  not  ask  you  to  give  up  your  faith,  I  ask  you  to  let 
me  come  into  it.  Let  me  preach  the  Light  of  Love,  you 
its  goddess,  I  its  high  priest.  Come !  " 

She  sank  upon  the  bench  again.  She  put  her  hands 
on  either  side  of  his  face  and  gazed  into  his  eyes. 

"  Do  what  your  heart  tells  mine  it  is  pleading  with 
you  to  do,"  he  urged.  "  Let  us  live !  " 

Gently  she  kissed  him.  "  No — let  us  die,  you  mean," 
284 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

she  said  sweetly  and  sadly.  "  I  know  that  the  price  of 
my  love  is  my  immortality.  To  live  without  you  or  to 
grow  old  and  die  with  you  in  The  Darkness " 

Distinctly  she  saw  again  Mr.  Casewell  mourning  be- 
side the  corpse  of  Ann  Banks,  his  heart  full  of  the 
memories  of  their  long  ago;  distinctly  the  whole  burial 
scene  re-enacted  before  her  eyes  until  he  rose,  head  and 
shoulders  from  the  sepulcher,  saying  "  It  is  finished !  " 
She  shuddered,  felt  the  breath  of  fiends  upon  her  back ; 
and  this  mystery  that  had  fascinated  her  as  it  brooded 
over  her  and  permeated  her  and  steeped  her  in  its  atmos- 
phere of  the  supernal — it  now  seemed  a  spirit  of  horror 
and  of  hate,  as  it  had  when  it  hounded  her  to  the  brink 
of  the  cliffs  of  despair  and  tore  from  her  arms  her  child. 
With  a  cry  she  clung  to  him,  pressing  her  face  against 
his. 

When  the  sense  of  his  nearness  had  reassured  her, 
she  looked  out  to  the  East — through  the  foliage,  the 
white  Temple  of  Temples  and  the  great  gray  mass  of 
the  Hall  of  the  Light ;  and  high  above  the  sea  of  green 
and  islet  of  white,  and  isle  of  gray,  floated  the  splendid 
crimson  and  gold  banner.  The  Light !  A  dream  ?  An 
ended  dream?  A  dream  of  The  Darkness?  The  last 
in  the  series  of  dreams  that  had  begun  for  her  when  she, 
a  child,  awakened  to  the  enigma  of  existence? 

She  looked  at  him — was  he,  too,  a  dream,  was  her 
love,  their  love,  a  dream  ?  "  I  do  not  know — I  do  not 
19  285 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

know,"  she  murmured.  Life — might  it  not  be,  after  all, 
only  a  fantastic  vision,  the  now  whimsical  and  now  trag- 
ical creation  of  the  wandering  mind  of  a  dreaming  god? 

He  was  following  her  roving  glance,  imagined  he 
was  following  her  thought.  "  It  is  true  I  have  only  love 
to  offer  you,"  he  said  sadly  and  a  little  bitterly.  "  I  do 
not  wonder  that  you  hesitate  to  step  down  from  all  this." 

She  shook  her  head  in  gentle  reproach.  "  That  is 
unjust.  '  Only  love '  means  a  great  deal  to  me — who 
am  a  woman." 

"  I'm  ashamed  that  I  said  it,"  he  quickly  rejoined. 
"  I  spoke  without  thinking.  Women  sacrifice  everything 
for  love  every  day,  everywhere,  and  no  one  wonders  at 
it.  If  a  man  makes  a  sacrifice  for  love,  it  gets  him  a 
page  in  history." 

"A  woman  does  not  call  it  a  sacrifice  to  give  up  a 
less  value  for  a  greater,"  she  said.  "  But — you  would 
wish  me  first  to  be  sure — sure  in  my  own  heart,  not 
merely  sure  in  your  assurance — sure  that  I  really  wish 
to  take  it,  and  shall  not  have " 

"  Regrets  ?  "  he  asked,  as  she  hesitated  to  finish. 

"  No,  not  regrets.  Remorse.  Remorse  for  broken 
vows  and  betrayed  friendship — and — "  She  could  not 
utter  her  fear  of  fears,  her  fear  for  him.  "  '  The  wages 
of  sin  is  death  '  "  she  remembered: — What  death — whose 
death? 

He  did  not  try  to  fight  superstition  with  any  of  the 
286 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

futile  weapons  of  words.  He  used  the  only  force  that 
could  hope  to  conquer — he  faced  superstition  with  pas- 
sion. And  presently  she,  glowing  in  his  arms,  was  drink- 
ing in  the  sense  of  him  at  every  pore,  was  murmuring, 
"The  fire!  How  I  need  it!  How  cold  I  was !" 

He  held  her  more  closely.  "  This  is  reality,"  he  said. 
"  The  other  was  a  dream.  You  see  it  now?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  wish  to  know,"  was  her  an- 
swer. "  I  wish  only  to  love — to  dream  on  and  on — never 
to  wake." 

When  he  left  her,  she  stayed  on  in  the  garden.  Alone, 
she  was  still  drifting  upon  the  ecstasy  of  his  presence 
and  his  caresses.  "  I  mil  not  wake !  "  she  cried.  And 
she  closed  her  eyes  and  spurred  her  imagination.  "  It  is 
not  sin !  It  is  joy  and  light  and  life !  " 

But  he  was  gone ;  the  tempest  continued  to  subside,  to 
retreat.  Never  before  had  it  been  so  violent,  had  it  lifted 
her  so  high ;  therefore,  never  before  was  the  reaction  so 
swift.  "  I  will  not  wake !  "  she  cried.  But  down  and 
down  she  sank,  like  a  becalmed  leaf  that  the  storm-wind 
has  swirled  up.  In  vain  she  fluttered  and  struggled ; 
back  to  earth,  back  to  reality — or,  to  the  dream  of  the 
faith  into  which  the  dream  of  him  and  her  and  love  was 
dissolving. 

"  I  will  not  wake !  "  she  cried. 

But  The  Light  was  beating  upon  her,  was  rousing 
287 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

in  her  the  beginnings  of  terror  and  remorse.  And  "  I 
am  yours,  forever  yours,"  had  been  her  parting  words 
to  him!  She  had  given  herself,  when  she  was  not  her 
own  to  give. 

"  I  must  dream  on ! "  she  implored. 

So  powerful  became  her  sense  of  some  dread  compan- 
ionship in  her  solitude  that  she  roused  herself  and  looked 
round,  a  chill  creeping  over  her  skin.  Beyond  several 
screens  of  bushes,  in  one  of  the  side  aisles  she  saw  a 
curious  movement — something  black,  a  touch  of  scarlet 
higher  up.  When  she  had  control  of  her  voice  she  called 
"Mr.  Hinkley!" 

A  moment  and  he  was  before  her — in  dress,  in  bear- 
ing, in  burning  eyes,  in  pallid  look  of  one  who  fasts  and 
prays,  the  priest  of  the  faith — of  her  faith! 

She  had  thought  his  presence  would  fill  her  with 
hatred  and  loathing.  But  as  he  stood  there,  the  memory 
of  all  he  had  done  for  her,  of  all  that  was  noble  in  him, 
rose  up  to  plead  for  him.  And  she  pitied  him — for  his 
unceasing  sufferings,  for  the  hopeless  love  that  was  ever 
tearing  at  him,  for  the  fiend  of  fanaticism  that  dwelt  in 
him  and  ruled  him.  "As  in  me,"  she  thought,  in  one  of 
those  fleeting  flashes  of  self -revelation. 

"  Oh,  Will !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  It  was  you!  " 

He  understood  that  she  was  accusing  him.  "  Yes," 
he  calmly  admitted.  He  lifted  his  head  in  gloomy  pride. 
"  I  am  one  of  those  who  stand  with  drawn  swords,  guard- 

288 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

ing  the  altar  of  The  Light.  And  The  Light  has 
vgiven  me  strength  to  do  my  duty — and  will  give  it  me 
again." 

She  started  up.  "And  /  was  pitying  you ! "  she 
cried.  "  You  who  let  a  hideous  jealousy  drive  you  to 
become  an  assassin.  And  you  talk  of  The  Light,  and 
threaten !  " 

"  I  do  not  threaten,"  he  replied  solemnly,  a  light  in 
his  eyes  before  which  she  could  not  but  shrink.  "  I  can- 
not know  what  The  Light  will  command,  or  whom.  But 
I  do  know  that  whatsoever  it  commands  shall  be  done, 
and  that  whomsoever  it  commands  shall  do  it.  Yes — 
even  you,  Mother-Light ! "  And  he  reverently  per- 
formed the  ceremonial  of  the  name.  "  If  the  command 
came  to  you,  with  your  own  hand  you  would  kill  the 
man  you  love." 

She  trembled  and  sank  to  the  bench. 

"  You  say  I  did  it  through  jealousy,"  he  went  on. 
"  Perhaps  so.  That  afternoon,  when  The  Light  com- 
pelled me  to  come  to  this  garden,  I  saw  his  arms  about 
you,  saw — all — all!  It  was  The  Light  that  restrained 
me  from  killing  him.  It  may  be  that  The  Light  per- 
mitted my  jealousy  to  serve  its  holy  end.  But,  if  it  was 
jealousy,  why  did  I  weep  as  I  struck  him  and  why  did 
my  heart  leap  with  gratitude  when  I  heard  he  was  not 
going  to  die  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  see  The  Light  in  it,"  she  protested.  "  I 
289 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

see  only  a  sinful  passion."  But  she  did  not  convince 
herself. 

"  And  why,"  he  went  on  calmly,  "  when  I  saw  again, 
this  afternoon — a  few  minutes  ago — when  I  turned  away 
that  I  might  not  see  you  give  him  that  for  which  I  would 
lose  my  soul — why  was  I  not  in  a  fury?  Why  was  I 
overwhelmed  with  an  awful  sadness  and  pity  ?  "  And 
his  tones  conjured  to  her  a  great  phantom  of  woe  fling- 
ing high  despairing  arms.  "  Oh,  Maida !  Maida !  "  he 
exclaimed.  "  Why  did  you  not  take  warning !  The 
Light  has  wrought  miracle  after  miracle  not  only  for 
you  but  in  you.  You  knew  its  power.  You  knew  how  it 
works  out  its  purposes  inevitably.  Yet,  when  The  Light 
in  its  mercy  spares  him  because  he  was  innocent,  spares 
you  the  misery  of  having  caused  his  death — you  forget 
the  merciful  warning  and  turn  to  your  sin  again ! " 

His  words  seemed  to  her  to  be  uttering  in  the  voice  of 
the  Infinite.  "  Mercy ! "  she  muttered.  The  sin  that 
had  withered  Ann  Banks;  the  sin  that  eats  the  soul — 
and  she  had  yielded  to  it! 

"And  you  cannot  plead  that  you  did  not  know.  The 
Light  spoke  again  and  again,  bade  you  send  him  away !  " 

"  Mercy !  Mercy !  "  she  moaned.  "  Mercy  for  him ! 
Mine  was  the  sin — all  mine !  " 

He  suddenly  gave  a  loud  cry,  knelt  and  prayed,  the 
sweat  streaming  from  his  forehead,  his  thin,  dead-white 
hands  so  interlaced  that  each  seemed  to  be  trying  to  tear 

290 


THE    MOTHER-LIGHT 

the  fingers  from  the  other.  "  I  cannot !  I  cannot !  " 
he  implored,  and  sight  would  not  have  strengthened  her 
sense  of  the  invisible  awful  presence  he  was  beseeching. 

"  You  shall  not !  "  she  cried,  springing  up  and  about 
to  dart  down  the  fragrant,  blossoming  aisle  toward  the 
Temple. 

"  Not  that,"  he  said,  rising.  "He  is  safe.  The  sin 
was  yours  and — "  His  look  now  was  that  which  they 
give  to  Abraham  binding  his  only  son  upon  the  altar. 
"  You  must  die !  " 

She  drew  a  quick  breath.  "  I?  "  she  looked,  rather 
than  said. 

"  You,  Maida,"  he  answered.  "  While  you  were 
steeping  yourself  in  sin  here,  I  was  over  there,  walking 
up  and  down,  kneeling,  prostrating  myself,  praying  that 
you  might  be  spared — for,  when  The  Light  directed  me 
to  this  garden  to-day,  and  I  saw,  I  realized  that  death 
alone  could  purify  the  altar." 

Death!  "  It  is  just,"  she  murmured.  "  Upon  me  let 
the  whole  punishment  fall !  "  From  afar  came  the  sound 
of  the  great  organ  and  the  choir  chanting  the  sunset 
service  in  the  Hall  of  The  Light. 

"And,"  the  Voice  went  on,  "  I— Will  Hinkley— who 
have  loved  you  since  you  were  a  child — I,  accursed  being 
that  I  am,  have  been  appointed  by  The  Light.  That  is 
my  punishment  for  the  sacrilege  of  my  love  for  you.  I 
brought  you  here.  I  must  take  you  away." 

291 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

But  she  had  ceased  to  hear.  Her  senses  left  her  and 
she  reeled  and  sank  among  the  bushes,  lay  supported  by 
blossoming  branches.  He  lifted  her  tenderly  in  his  arms 
and,  with  steady  step  and  flaming  eyes,  bore  her  to  where 
the  garden  ended  in  the  broad  stone  top  of  the  sluggish 
river's  retaining  wall.  He  stood  looking  down  at  the 
black  pool.  She  stirred,  sighed;  he  felt  her  breath 
against  his  cheek,  felt  the  strong  vivid  beat  of  her  heart. 
Over  her  face  came  a  change  faint  as  the  shadow  of  a 
transparent  wing,  and  she  opened  her  eyes. 

He  looked  away,  hesitated,  carried  her  to  a  tree,  set 
her  down  against  it,  and  began  pacing  to  and  fro.  "  I 
cannot !  I  dare  not !  "  he  was  muttering,  his  ghastly 
face  working.  "  She  is  the  Mother-Light.  Guidance ! 
Lead  me,  O  Light !  " 

She  watched,  weak  as  a  dropped  garment. 

"  But  only  death  can  expiate — only  death !  "  He 
paused;  a  look  of  terrible  joy  came  into  his  eyes.  "  The 
Light !  The  Light !  "  he  cried,  and  faced  her.  "  The 
Light  commands  me  to  take  your  burden  of  guilt  and 
my  own.  It  was  I  who  first  defiled  the  Temple  with  a 
carnal  love.  All  the  sin  came  through  me.  I  can  ex- 
piate. I  may  go,  alone." 

And  then  she  saw  upon  the  parapet  Mr.  Casewell  in 
his  apostolic  robes.  He  was  beckoning  to  Hinkley,  but 
he  was  looking  mournfully  at  her. 

"  I  come !  I  come !  "  cried  Hinkley.  He  gazed  at 
292 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

her  with  the  heart-breaking  look  of  everlasting  fare- 
well, turned,  went  toward  the  figure  which  seemed  to  re- 
treat and  to  hover  above  the  river.  With  arms  out- 
spread, like  a  man  advancing  into  a  blinding  light, 
Hinkley  strode  off  the  parapet  and  disappeared. 

At  the  sullen  splash  of  his  body,  she  screamed  faint- 
ly. She  lifted  herself,  went  with  halting  step  to  the  edge 
of  the  wall.  On  the  liquid  black  beneath  were  a  few 
languid  circles.  She  clasped  her  hands,  looked  out  at  the 
hovering  figure  of  the  First  Apostle.  Its  countenance 
was  a-glow  with  a  solemn  joy ;  and  suddenly  she  felt  that 
sin  had  been  taken  from  her,  and  all  desire  to  sin,  and 
that  the  flame  of  the  Mother-Light  burned  bright  upon 
a  stainless  altar. 

"  He  has  expiated !  "  came  from  the  figure  in  Mr. 
Casewell's  own  voice. 

She  stretched  her  arms  over  the  pool  and  prayed: 
"  May  The  Light  shine  for  him !  " 

When  she  again  looked  where  the  figure  had  been, 
she  saw  only  cloud-banners  and  cloud-pennants  of  crim- 
son and  gold,  streaming  in  the  sunset  sky.  And  she  felt 
the  radiance  from  them  enfolding  her,  bathing  her,  per- 
meating her,  saturating  her. 

"  The  Light !  "  she  cried.     «  The  Light !  " 

She  stood  there  praying.  In  the  deepening  twilight 
she  seemed  to  herself  to  be  upon  a  tiny,  dark,  tree- 
girdled  island,  afloat  in  an  infinite  opal  ocean  that  was 

293 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

lighted  by  a  single  sunset  star.  It  was  the  Mother- 
Light  alone  who  returned  to  the  Temple;  the  Woman 
lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  dark  pool  in  a  grave  that  was 
never  to  give  up  its  dead. 

"  Maida  Hickman  will  trouble  and  tempt  me  no 
more,"  she  said. 

That  night  the  First  Apostle  appeared  to  her  in  a 
dream.  It  was  the  beginning  of  those  face  to  face  com- 
munings  with  him  which  ever  thereafter,  in  every  crisis, 
gave  her  strength  and  guidance.  The  visions  of  her 
girlhood  in  the  oak-tree  bower  had  been  fulfilled.  She 
had  entered  into  her  destiny;  and  the  doors  of  the  life 
that  loves  and  suffers  and  dies  were  shut,  and  sealed,  be- 
hind her. 


294 


XXII 

WHEN  Thorndyke  tried  to  see  his  cousin,  admittance 
was  denied  him ;  she  wrote  him  that  the  Temple  of  Tem- 
ples had  been  closed  to  all  not  of  The  Light — a  note  of 
farewell,  such  as  a  cloistered  nun  might  have  written. 

It  was  three  years  before  the  Mother-Light  made  an 
apparition.  Thorndyke  went.  At  the  appointed  hour 
the  anthem  from  the  choristers  before  the  Hall  came 
across  the  thronged  lawns  upon  the  thunderous  waves  of 
the  organ's  hosanna.  His  nerves  quivered  as  the  leaves 
quiver  just  before  the  storm  breaks.  The  windows 
opened.  Floycroft  appeared  in  his  magnificent  apostolic 
robes,  bearing  a  jeweled  sunburst  on  a  crimson  and  gold 
staff.  Then,  a  sound  from  the  multitude  like  silence 
catching  its  breath.  All  in  white  strewn  with  sunbursts, 
She  was  on  the  balcony;  the  sunshine  was  shimmering 
upon  Her  casque  of  gold  bronze  hair ;  her  long  white  arms 
were  extending  in  benediction.  And  She  seemed  to  him 
to  have  descended  from  the  Infinite  upon  those  resplen- 
dent billows  of  midsummer  light  that  were  flooding  the 
whole  scene,  and  were  dashing  and  breaking  in  golden 
foam  upon  the  balcony  on  which  she  stood  and  upon 
the  marble  wall  behind  her,  and  were  drenching  her  with 

295 


THE     MOTHER-LIGHT 

their  glittering  spray.  And  he  had  dared  to  lift  his 
eyes  to  Her  in  longing,  in  hope! 

She  was  gone.  He  looked  round  over  the  sea  of 
hysteria — a  wild  sea  it  was,  with  climaxes  of  frenzy  here 
and  there,  about  those  who  had  been  healed.  An  ac- 
quaintance, a  fellow  surgeon  from  Philadelphia,  sweep- 
ing past  him  in  the  current  of  swirling,  swaying  human- 
ity, cried  laughingly :  "  You  look  like  a  rock  of  reason 
alone  in  an  ocean  of  delusion." 

"  A  barren  rock,"  said  Thorndyke,  half  to  himself. 

"  But  a  rock,"  replied  the  other  as  he  was  swept 
away. 

"  A  bleak  and  barren  rock,"  muttered  Thorndyke, 
"  and  the  soul  on  it  dying  of  hunger  and  thirst." 

(1) 


THE  END. 


296 


THE  MASTERPIECE  OF  A  MASTER  MIND, 

The  Prodigal  Son. 

By  HALL  CAINE.    i2mo,  Ornamental  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  The  Prodigal  Son  "  follows  the  lines  of  the  Bible  para- 
ble in  the  principal  incidents,  but  in  certain  important 
particulars  it  departs  from  them.  In  a  most  convincing 
way,  and  with  rare  beauty,  the  story  shows  that  Christ's 
parable  is  a  picture  of  heavenly  mercy,  and  not  of  human 
justice,  and  if  it  were  used  as  an  example  of  conduct  among 
men  it  would  destroy  all  social  conditions  and  disturb  ac- 
cepted laws  of  justice.  The  book  is  full  of  movement  and 
incident,  and  must  appeal  to  the  public  by  its  dramatic 
story  alone.  The  Prodigal  Son  at  the  close  of  the  book 
has  learned  this  great  lesson,  and  the  meaning  of  the  parable 
is  revealed  to  him.  Neither  success  nor  fame  can  ever  wipe 
out  the  evil  of  the  past.  It  is  not  from  the  unalterable  laws 
of  nature  and  life  that  forgiveness  can  be  hoped  for. 

"  Since  '  The  Manxman '  Hall  Caine  has  written  nothing  so  moving 
in  its  elements  of  pathos  and  tragedy,  so  plainly  marked  with  the  power 
to  search  the  human  heart  and  reveal  its  secret  springs  of  strength  and 
weakness,  its  passion  and  strife,  so  sincere  and  satisfying  as  '  The  Prodi- 
gal Son.'  " — New  York  Times. 

"  It  is  done  with  supreme  self-confidence,  and  the  result  is  a  work 
of  genius." — New  York  Evening  Post. 

"  '  The  Prodigal  Son '  will  hold  the  reader's  attention  from  cover  to 
cover." — Philadelphia  Record. 

"  This  is  one  of  Hall  Caine's  best  novels — one  that  a  large  portion 
of  the  fiction-reading  public  will  thoroughly  enjoy." 

—  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  It  is  a  notable  piece  of  fiction." — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

"  In  'The  Prodigal  Son'  Hall  Caine  has  produced  his  greatest  work." 

— Boston  Herald. 

"  Mr.  Caine  has  achieved  a  work  of  extraordinary  merit,  a  fiction  as 
finely  conceived,  as  deftly  constructed,  as  some  of  the  best  work  of  our 
living  novelists." — London  Daily  Mail. 

"  '  The  Prodigal  Son '  is  indeed  a  notable  novel ;  and  a  work  that 
may  certainly  rank  with  the  best  of  recent  fiction.  .  .  ." 

—  Westminster  Gazette. 

D .    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


A  NOVEL  THAT  IS  ALL  TRUE. 

Bethany :  A  Story  of  the  Old  South. 

By  THOMAS  E.  WATSON,  author  of  "The  Life 
and  Times  of  Thomas  Jefferson,"  etc.  Illustrated. 
I2mo.  Ornamental  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Few  writers  of  the  present  day  have  reached  the  deserved  literary  emi- 
nence and  prominence  that  has  been  achieved  by  Thomas  E.  Watson,  Presi- 
dential candidate  of  the  People's  Party,  author  of  '  The  Life  and  Times  of 
Thomas  Jefferson'  and  other  important  historical  works.  Mr.  Watson  is  a 
student,  historian,  and  biographer,  as  well  as  a  finished  orator.  It  comes  in 
the  nature  of  a  pleasant  surprise,  therefore,  to  find  that  this  brilliant  author 
has  turned  his  attention  to  fiction.  Probably  no  writer  of  the  present  day 
brings  just  such  broad  knowledge,  scholarly  attainments,  and  intimate  style 
into  the  composition  of  his  books  as  does  Mr.  Watson.  He  is  particularly 
qualified  to  bring  to  a  successful  termination  any  literary  work  he  may  attempt. 
In  '  Bethany '  he  tells  in  his  brilliant  style  of  the  old  South  as  he  knew  it  in 
his  boyhood.  This  work  is  only  in  part  fiction.  Mr.  Watson  has  succeeded 
admirably  in  picturing  the  life  of  the  people  of  Georgia  during  the  anti- 
slavery  controversy  and  the  war  itself.  In  doing  this  he  has  written  a  book 
that  throbs  with  human  emotions  on  every  page  and  pulsates  with  strong, 
virile  life  in  every  sentence.  Mr.  Watson  has  written  '  Bethany '  from  the  heart 
as  well  as  from  the  head.  With  broad  comprehension  and  unfailing  accuracy 
he  has  drawn  characters  and  depicted  incidents  which  deserve  to  be  considered 
as  models  of  the  people." 

"The  Hon.  Thomas  E.  Watson  of  Georgia  is  a  man  of  many  parts. 
Above  all  he  is  still  able  to  learn,  as  those  who  will  compare  the  second  part 
of  his  '  Story  of  France '  with  the  first  may  easily  see.  In  '  Bethany  :  A  Story 
of  the  Old  South,'  he  plunges  into  romance,  it  seems  to  us  with  complete  suc- 
cess. The  story  is  told  directly,  clearly,  in  excellent  English,  and  is  as  vivid  a 
picture  of  a  Southern  family  during  the  war  as  anyone  could  wish  for." 

—New  York  Sun. 

"  As  a  '  true  picture  of  the  times  and  the  people,"  as  of  war  and  its  horrors, 
the  book  will  be  welcomed  by  both  North  and  South.  Clear,  simple,  occa- 
sionally abrupt,  the  story  is  always  subordinated  to  the  historical  facts  that  lie 
back  of  it.  Yet  it  cannot  be  gainsaid  that  each  illumines  the  other,  nor  that 
•  Bethany '  possesses  distinct  value  as  a  just  and  genuine  contribution  to  the 
literature  of  the  present  '  Southern  revival.'  " — Chicago  Record- Her  aid. 

"  The  love-story  of  the  young  soldier  and  his  faithful  sweetheart  is  a  per- 
fect idyll  of  old  plantation  life,  and  its  sad  ending  fits  properly  into  the  tragedy 
of  that  fearful  war." — St.  Louis  Globe-Democrat. 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY,    NEW    YORK. 


WIT,  SPARKLING,  SCINTILLATING  WIT, 
IS  THE  ESSENCE  OF 

Kate  of  Kate  Hall, 

By  ELLEN  THORNEYCROFT  FOWLER, 

whose  reputation  was  made  by  her  first  book, 
"  Concerning  Isabel  Carnaby,"  and  enhanced  by  her 
last  success,  "  Place  and  Power." 

"  In  '  Kate  of  Kate  Hall,'  by  Ellen  Thorneycroft  Fowler,  the  ques- 
tion of  imminent  concern  is  the  marriage  of  super-dainty,  peppery, 
tempered  Lady  Katherine  Clare,  whose  wealthy  godmother,  erstwhile 
deceased,  has  left  her  a  vast  fortune,  on  condition  that  she  shall  be 
wedded  within  six  calendar  months  from  date  of  the  testator's  death. 

"An  easy  matter,  it  would  seem,  for  bonny  Kate,  notwithstanding 
her  aptness  at  sharp  repartee,  is  a  morsel  fit  for  the  gods. 

"  The  accepted  suitor  appears  in  due  time ;  but  comes  to  grief  at  the 
last  moment  in  a  quarrel  with  Lady  Kate  over  a  kiss  bestowed  by  her 
upon  her  godmother's  former  man  of  affairs  and  secretary.  This  inci- 
dent she  haughtily  refuses  to  explain.  Moreover,  she  shatters  the  bond 
of  engagement,  although  but  three  weeks  remain  of  the  fatal  six  months. 
She  would  rather  break  stones  on  the  road  all  day  and  sleep  in  a 
pauper's  grave  all  night,  than  marry  a  man  who,  while  professing  to  love 
her,  would  listen  to  mean  and  malicious  gossips  picked  up  by  tell-tales 
in  the  servants'  hall. 

"  So  the  great  estate  is  likely  to  be  lost  to  Kate  and  her  debt-ridden 
father,  Lord  Claverley.  How  it  is  conserved  at  last,  and  gloomy  appre- 
hension chased  away  by  dazzling  visions  of  material  splendor — that  is 
the  author's  well-kept  secret,  not  to  be  shared  here  with  a  careless  and 
indolent  public." — Philadelphia  North  American. 

"  The  long-standing  reproach  that  women  are  seldom  Tiumorists 
seems  in  a  fair  way  of  passing  out  of  existence.  Several  contemporary 
feminine  writers  have  at  least  sufficient  sense  of  humor  to  produce  char- 
acters as  deliciously  humorous  as  delightful.  Of  such  order  is  the 
Countess  Claverley,  made  whimsically  real  and  lovable  in  the  recent 
book  by  Ellen  Thorneycroft  Fowler  and  A.  L.  Felkin,  '  Kate  of  Kate 
Hall.'  "—Chicago  Record-Herald. 

" '  Kate  of  Kate  Hall '  is  a  novel  in  which  Ellen  Thorneycroft  Fowler 
displays  her  brilliant  abilities  at  their  best.  The  story  is  well  constructed, 
the  plot  develops  beautifully,  the  incidents  are  varied  and  brisk,  and  the 
dialogue  is  deliciously  clever." — Rochester  Democrat  and  Chronicle. 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


A  FASCINATING  NOVEL  WITH  A  STRONG  ENDING. 


The  Misfit  Crown. 

By  FRANCES  DAVIDGE.  12010.  Ornamental 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

This  book  tells  of  a  girl  who  is  almost  morbidly  ideal- 
istic, and  of  the  three  men  who  were  in  love  with  her.  One 
she  marries,  one  she  loves,  and  the  other  loves  her.  A 
sense  of  duty  leads  to  her  marriage,  but  the  beauty  and 
purity  of  her  love  which  she  has  the  strength  not  to  avow 
for  the  man  who  is  not  her  husband,  and  that  of  the  kindly 
cynical  man  of  the  world  for  her,  is  beyond  belief.  To 
read  the  book  is  enough  to  restore  one's  belief  in  the  good- 
ness of  all  things  as  Leonida,  the  heroine,  restored  that  of 
John  Ashburton,  the  kindly  cynic. 

"  '  The  Misfit  Crown '  is  a  book  to  read.  It  is  a  strong  story,  swift  in 
movement,  full  of  a  vital,  breathing  interest,  and  deeply  sane  on  a  subject 
which  many  novelists  in  the  gusts  of  emotion  have  dared  to  deal  lightly  with. 
There  are  humor  and  sadness  in  it,  the  tragic  and  the  gay,  a  fund  of  keen  wit, 
cynicism  based  on  worldly  wisdom — and  in  all  fine  feeling.  John  Ashburton 
is  a  character  that  will  linger  long  in  the  memory.  He  does  not  yield  place 
even  to  Leonida,  who  changed  him  from  the  scoffer,  though  good-natured  man 
that  he  was,  to  the  man  who,  on  his  deathbed,  and  ere  he  turned  his  face  to  the 
wall  and  went  his  way,  whispered  to  her — '  But  you — Leonida — have — made  me 
credulous  " — .  Frances  Davidge  has  written  a  novel  that  is  not  to  be  classed 
with  the  average.  One  is  the  better  for  reading  it." — Baltimore  Herald. 

"An  English  novel  with  brevity  and  directness,  in  addition  to  which  its 
characters  are  unusual  and  interesting.  Epigrammatic  conversations  abound, 
and  one  is  kept  in  a  pleasurable  state  of  doubt  as  to  what  sort  of  people  he 
is  meeting,  though  he  is  sure  to  follow  the  trend  of  the  story  with  interest. 
'  The  Misfit  Crown '  will  doubtless  find  a  warm  welcome  into  what  is  known 
as  the  smart  set  in  this  country." — St.  Louts  Globe-Democrat. 

"  There  are  thrills  enough  in  the  story  to  satisfy  anyone  with  a  sensational 
turn  of  mind." — Pittsburg  Leader. 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY,    NEW    YORK. 


'Xf 


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